


The Desperate Kingdom of Love

by loveinadoorway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-29
Updated: 2009-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPN Writers' Lounge Plot Bunny; AU ending for 4.22: Dean shouts through the chapel door that killing Lilith will break the final seal. (Wouldn't that have been a smart thing for him to do?) But Ruby and/or Lilith drag him inside and threaten to kill him unless Sam kills Lilith. What does Sam do, and what happens afterwards?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**The Desperate Kingdom of Love - 1/? SPN AU 4.22**_  
 **Title:** The Desperate Kingdom of Love 1/?  
 **Disclaimer:**   I aim to misbehave, but I don’t aim to profit from it. Will return them when finished, as always a little the worse for wear, but mostly undamaged.  
Songs used will be listed and credited. Used for title and chapter headlines: The Desperate Kingdom of Love (written by P.J. Harvey, but I prefer the Giant Sand or C.J. Chenier versions)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Genre:** slash  
 **Word Count:** ~3348  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Possibly (okay, most definitely later) Dean/Cas, Sam/Lucifer, Lilith, Ruby, Bobby  
 **Warnings:** angst, torture, kink, slash, language, booze, the lot. oh, and I recycled day 6 of the 12 days of porn. fair warning, was a nasty piece of work.  
 **Summary:** SPN Writers' Lounge Plot Bunny; AU ending for 4.22: Dean shouts through the chapel door that killing Lilith will break the final seal. (Wouldn't that have been a smart thing for him to do?) But Ruby and/or Lilith drag him inside and threaten to kill him unless Sam kills Lilith. What does Sam do, and what happens afterwards?  
Not finished with this. Nuh-uh.

_And I'll follow you, into Heaven or Hell_

His lungs were burning, feeling raw as if someone had taken a cheese grater to them, yet still he kept hollering and beating his fist against the solid oak door in time with his shouts as if his life depended on it.  
It did, of course – and not only his life, but his sanity, what was left of his family and the fate of the entire world to boot.  
So Dean Winchester was shouting himself hoarse in front of the locked door to the convent’s church.  
It went something like “dontchagoandkillthatbitchsammyyahearme she’sthefuckin’lastsealsam don’tlayahandonlillithsammygoddammit” and mutliple variations thereof, interspersed with more swearing.  
He rammed his left shoulder into the door over and over again as he shouted and banged against the door with his right fist, trying to break at least two inches of solid oak by sheer cussedness alone, until he couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.  
He thought he’d felt something give, a bone or two breaking, but it didn’t matter.

Averting the Apocalypse was all that counted – and saving Sammy.  
At the thought of what might happen if he couldn’t stop Sam from killing Lilith, his mind threatened imminent shut-down. Sam turning demon, Sam being used as Lucifer’s vessel, Sam on the dark side of the fucking force, that was just too much for him. He couldn’t let that happen, period.  
Which was why he just had to get that fuckin’ door open right now.  
He hurled himself against the hard wood once more with redoubled force.  
When the door suddenly flew open, he wasn’t prepared for it.  
It caught him hard on the shoulder in mid-slam and he was catapulted against the wall to the left. He hit the wall head first and slumped to the ground unconscious, a small but steady trickle of blood running along the side of his face.

  
_There's another who looks from behind your eyes_

Sam heard Dean’s desperate screams and stopped the knife’s descent at the very last second.  
The look of absolute rage on Lilith’s face was almost comical – or would have been, had not Ruby blasted the door open and dragged his unconscious, bleeding brother into the church by the scruff of his neck.  
Lilith advanced on him, face a mask of evil glee.  
“You will kill me, boy, or your precious brother dies. And this time, I can assure you, I’ll make sure he stays dead and goes right back where he belongs. Where my people are waiting for him.”

Sam swallowed convulsively, as something shifted subtly in the air around him.  
Ruby had gripped Dean’s head under the chin and on the forehead, in the classical way to break a neck. She could do it easily, he knew. In fact, she could even wrench his brother’s head clean off, if she wanted to.  
Something was moving inside of him, setting his blood on fire. It felt good.  
Dean or the Apocalypse.  
The choice was a no-brainer, really.  
Dean would kill him, Sam knew, if he were to choose his brother over the fate of the mankind.  
The fire was rising up in his body. What the hell did it matter, if Dean got mad at him, anyhow. Dean was not the boss of him and his brain-dead brother sure as hell wasn’t going to be making any decisions anymore for the both of them from here on out.  
He cast a dismissive glance at his brother and tasted brimstone and bile, yet he smiled.

Dean was damn near useless, anyhow.  
Had been, ever since he had come back from hell.  
Holding him back, dragging him down with his constant nagging about Sam’s powers and Ruby and boy, did he wish the stupid fuck had just kept his mouth shut half the time.  
Sam might, of course, even be strong enough these days to stop the Apocalypse, which might give him a possible third scenario with Dean alive and kicking and himself in control, stopping the Apocalypse.  
Sam, not Dean, saving the world.  
As it should be, as was his due.  
His power uncoiled slowly, a tangible, scaly thing, a slithering force that could shake the world.  
He smiled at the thought of Dean getting his long overdue come-uppance, of Dean groveling and begging Sam’s forgiveness for being such a dick the whole time, for looking at him as if he were something nasty that had crawled out from under the fridge.  
Yes, Sam smiled a reptilian smile, that would be the day.  
And his eyes took on a faint yellow glow.

  
_Selling your reason will not bring you through_

“You know, Sammy my boy, there was a time when I would have been already bleeding out on the floor a split second after delivering the ultimatum. Seems you’ve picked up a thing or two from Ruby during the last couple of months. Seems like your precious brother is no longer your top priority, is he?”  
Sam straightened up and wordlessly struck out with the knife.  
Lilith fell to the floor, blood running from her body much too fast, forming a sigil, forming the circle that would serve as Lucifer’s door to walk the earth.  
Ruby let go of Dean so abruptly his head hit the floor with a sickening crack and walked over to Sam.  
“I am so proud of you, lover.”  
She kissed him hard on the mouth, drew him into a tight embrace and he lost himself in the sensation of her hot body strumming with power, as the whole room became supercharged with something not unlike electricity.  
“Can you feel it?” she whispered into his mouth. “He is coming! Finally!”

Ruby laughed, grabbed both of his hands and Sam suddenly felt handcuffs snap shut over his wrists.  
“You are such a fool. Always the willing, clueless tool to the most nefarious plan, aren’t you? Oh yes, you master your powers, you’re so strong, aren’t you? Only, those powers were never yours, you see? You were running on borrowed juice. Now the power has started to flow back to its master and you are going to be Lucifer’s new chew toy.”  
“You bitch,” growled Sam and Ruby backhanded him across the mouth with staggering force.  
“Keep your mouth shut, lover boy, or I will shut it for you.”  
Sam tasted blood.  
Ruby grabbed the short chain between the cuffs and dragged him by it to a hook on the wall. She hung him on it by the cuffs and kicked him hard in the groin.  
As he half hung from the wall, doubled up against the pain in his crotch, he tried to use his power against Ruby, but it wasn’t answering his attempts to call it up from the depth of his soul. It felt like it had indeed gone completely.  
Sam started to desperately struggle against the handcuffs, but to no avail.

A form materialized in the center of the blood circle.  
The prince of hell chose to appear in the guise of an ordinary man. Not overly handsome, late twenties or early thirties, blond, fairly non-descript, but quite easy on the eyes nonetheless.  
Ruby smiled as she went down on one knee to greet him, hands held out, palms up, in supplication.  
Neither of them noticed that the still form of Dean Winchester had vanished from the church.  
Lucifer held out his hand, took Ruby’s in his and drew her to her feet.  
He kissed her hard. When he let her go, Ruby’s pupils were blown with lust and she licked her lips seductively.  
“You have done exceedingly well, my dear!” the devil said softly, then turned to Sam. “And you, how wonderfully you played along with our schemes. I am quite… taken with you, Sam Winchester. But we will chat later, dear boy. Now, Ruby, if you please…”  
He motioned to the demon and she hit Sam over the head with a candlestick.

  
_And how the wind knocked you down_

Dean fought his way back to consciousness through the black, viscous flux that someone seemed to had swapped his brain with.  
When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that he was lying in a dark alley.  
He had no idea where he was or how he got there, but it sure didn’t feel like a good sign.  
He was aching all over, bruised and battered. He gingerly touched the shoulder he had tried to break down the door with and winced. Felt like minced meat and possibly a broken clavicle. There was half-coagulated blood on his face, which he tried to wipe away with the sleeve of his jacket. Wasn’t too successful.  
“Castiel,” he whispered, putting the entire force of his mind behind the long distance call.  
The angel would know what happened. The angel would make sure he got to where he should be right now, which was definitely not this alley, Dean knew in his guts.  
He rested his head against the wall of a building and waited for the familiar rustle of wings, for the charge of electricity, for the jolt of his angel arriving.  
There was nothing.

Dean fought back a strangled sound that was trying to claw its way out of his chest, suddenly feeling infinitely alone and one helluva lot more lost than before.  
The archangels must’ve… he couldn’t even bring himself to think the unthinkable. So he stubbornly willed his brain to continue this thought as ‘the archangels must’ve taken Cas prisoner’. That was a logical explanation, wasn’t it?  
He fought to get himself to an upright position, leaning heavily against the wall with his good shoulder as he pushed himself upwards.  
He needed to get going.  
If Sam had broken the final seal, he needed to be where the action was, where Sammy was. He had to get back to Sammy, had to make sure his brother was safe. Had to fulfill the angels’ orders, had to stop the Apocalypse. After all, he thought with a harsh, painful laugh, that was what Cas had brought him back from hell for. And Cas... He deliberately pushed that thought to the back of his mind.  
He stumbled out of the alley and unto a larger street.  
There was a payphone just a few steps further down.  
Dean didn’t like the way his vision frizzed. Didn’t like the way he had to fight not to throw up, didn’t like the dizziness.  
Probably a concussion.  
Fuck.  
He squinted to read the location marker on the booth.  
Hartford, Connecticut. Okay. Not too bad. Not too far away from Ilchester, Maryland and the fucking convent.

He dug through his pockets. His cell was gone, so was his gun.  
He swore soundly, went through his pockets again and came up with a few coins.  
He dialed Bobby’s number.  
“Hey Bobby. Think it started. Don’t know. Got hit over the head with an oak door. Hartford. Dunno where Sam is. No, you stay put, I’ll drive back to Ilchester and check. Try calling Sammy. Must’ve lost my cell. Call ya when I know anything definitive.”  
He hung up the phone, took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then went in search of a car he could steal.  
In a dumpster, he found a length of wire that looked like it could be used to open the door of a nice 66 Mustang that some nice, upstanding citizen had kindly parked there for him. Okay, it was red, which was totally the wrong color, but beggars can’t be choosers. Easy as pie, opening the driver side door with a hook he had fashioned from the wire, easy as pie. He sank heavily into the seat.  
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes.  
Turned out to be a bad idea, for all he saw was phantom images and a fucking lightshow flashing against his eyelids and his dizziness and the nausea promptly got twice as bad. Yup, he had a concussion alright, no doubt about it.  
He hotwired the car and headed off in the general direction of Ilchester, gritting his teeth when he had to use his left arm, ignoring the headache from hell and trying to keep the frizz in front of his eyes to a minimum by sheer force of will.

  
_Holy water cannot help you now_

Sam came to, feeling nauseous. He was tied to a cot of some sort and couldn’t see much of his surroundings.  
Lucifer stepped smoothly into his line of vision, playing with a long, thin knife with a serrated edge.  
He smiled at Sam, gently, like a lover.  
“It’s time the two of us became better acquainted, Sam, don’t you think?”  
He slid the knife across Sam’s chest, leaving hot red trails in its wake.  
He lapped the blood up like a cat, his tongue shockingly rough against Sam’s skin.  
He lightly bit on Sam’s nipple, pulling it up a little, teasing it, licking it.  
He hummed “Where do the children play…”  
The knife now traced a path over Sam’s abdomen, leaving icy-hot needles of pain behind.  
“You know, Sam, it greatly disappointed Azazel that most of our precious children didn’t really play, wouldn’t go in the right direction. But you, oh you are so special. I can taste Azazel in your blood. So good, so rich.”  
Lucifer looked at Sam Winchester and smiled again.  
It was an engaging smile in an engaging face and it scared the part of Sam that was whole, sane and good to the core of his being.  
The other part of Sam, the sick, dark, unclean part, was smiling back in anticipation.

Lucifer dipped his head and licked across Sam’s penis.  
“You want me to do this, dear boy, don’t you? My special, precious little boy.”  
“No. Don’t.”  
Those were Sam’s first words. He had maintained stoic silence throughout start of it, but he just couldn’t let that happen.  
“But Sam, I know you want it, deep down inside. I know all the dark things you so carefully hide from everyone, including your aggravating brother.”  
Lucifer stroked Sam’s dick until it was firm.  
Sam couldn’t help it, he didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he suddenly did want this.  
Did want Lucifer to continue.  
Couldn’t control his own body anymore.  
“YES!” bellowed the dark voice inside of him and he could feel something inside of himself move. The devil’s voice made the unclean thing slither excitedly.  
“Yes, dear, that’s better, isn’t it? We shall have so much fun together, you and I.”  
Lucifer’s voice was pleasant, light and friendly.

The knife cut a streaming red line along the inside of Sam’s thigh, while the devil fondled Sam’s cock with his other hand, wickedly deft fingers gliding across the slitted tip and along the entire length of the shaft.  
Pleasurepain all over.  
It was the vilest thing that Sam had ever felt and the dark voice inside his head reveled in it, welcomed it.  
“Please…" croaked Sam and realized he didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore.  
Lucifer laughed softly and whispered into Sam’s ear : “Not so impatient, sweet boy, I will get you there, just you wait and see!”  
Sam whimpered, as the devil slipped one finger into his anus and the world tilted irrevocably.

  
_Oh love, you were a sickly child_

Dean drove like a maniac.  
He was desperate to get back to Ilchester, plain and simple.  
Didn’t matter that he usually had to try to aim for the middle of the three highways in front of his eyes so as not to hit the soft shoulder. Didn’t matter that it hurt like blazes to grip the steering wheel with his right hand. Didn’t matter that his head was killing him.  
He just had to check up on Sam.  
And he had to see for himself if Lucifer had truly risen.  
Something definitely seemed to have shifted in the air since he came to, but it didn’t feel like… the big bang had happened yet.  
Oddly enough, he had scenes from his childhood flashing through his head the entire time as he drove. Him taking care of Sammy, preparing food, comforting his brother when he was sad, giving him meds when he was sick. Passing Sammy the last cookie when he pleaded with Dean, even though the kid had had the lion’s share already.  
He couldn’t help the tear that trickled down his cheek.  
If Sammy was still alive, who knew what kind of state he’d be in.  
Who knew if there was anything left of his baby brother.  
All Dean knew was he’d never stop looking and he’d never stop fighting until all hopes were shattered and all options used up.  
And then he’d probably start over again.  
“Cas,” he whispered again, hoping against all odds that all he would have to do was turn his head slightly to see the familiar trench coated figure in the passenger seat.  
But there again was no answer to his call, no reaction from the heavens, no sign of Castiel’s fate.

The morning was already sliding towards noon by the time Dean reached the convent.  
The doors were standing wide open and inside the church, there was a large circle of blood on the floor, a sigil, a door, whatever.  
No sign of Sam, no sign of anyone.  
Not even Lilith’s body, just a body-shaped burn mark on the floor at the center of the mark that he took to be what was left of her.  
Dean hunkered down to look at the circle of blood more closely.  
Close-up, it didn’t yield any more intel than it had from a higher vantage point, but now the sickly smell of decaying blood filled his nostrils. He tried hard not to gag.  
Dean rose again, digging a crumpled diner bill from his pocket and a stub of pencil and quickly made a rough drawing of the room.  
Shit, if only he hadn’t lost his cell...  
He paused to think. In all likelihood, he must’ve lost it when he kissed the convent wall, so he walked out of the door to search the corridor.  
Amongst a pile of rubble on the left of the door, he found his cell. The screen was cracked, but it seemed basically operational.  
He walked inside the church once more and snapped a few photos with his cell. Bobby might know what to make of it all.  
He did a thorough sweep of the room, just like his father had taught him. In the end, he was sure he hadn’t left a single pebble unturned.

Dean tried to keep himself together, but it was becoming harder and harder not to lose his shit completely.  
There didn’t seem to be any clues left in the convent, apart from the blood circle.  
The church gave away nothing that could point him in the direction they might have taken his brother, nothing that told him if the Apocalypse had already started.  
He had gone over everything five times, each time with crazier thoughts of where, how and why he would be finding something useful this time, even if there had been nothing the previous time.  
At least there wasn’t any body, he kept telling himself.  
No body meant Sam could still be alive.  
No body could, of course, also mean Sam was the devil’s new meat suit, which was a thought Dean didn’t wish to dwell on at all.  
Little Sammy with the cereal fixation could not be playing the host to Beelzebub.  
No. No. No. No.  
Dean clenched his teeth against the wave of nausea that thought provoked.  
Tried to fight off the images flooding his brain of a pint sized, yellow-eyed Sammy shoveling cereal into his mouth with a silly yellow Tweetie Bird plastic spoon, dripping blood instead of milk. Magic Charms swimming in blood in a blue cereal bowl.  
He started retching, but given that he hadn‘t had anything to eat or drink since God knows when, it took a long time of dry heaving until he painfully threw up bile and the retching finally stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued AU ending for 4.22: Lucifer has risen and tries to kick-start the Apocalypse while messing about with Sam. Dean is desperate, as he misplaced his brother and his angel might be gone for good. Still not finished with this. Nuh-uh. But some drabbles and odd pieces somehow fall right into place in this environment. So yeah, I recycle.

_I learn from you how to hide_

There was a "because" in here somewhere, Dean thought, only he was too stinking drunk to remember. Which probably was a good thing. He stumbled and steadied himself against the wall.  
He was bleeding.  
Naturally.  
He was always bleeding these days. Too many fights, too much booze, not enough sleep make Dean a bleeding wreck.  
He snorted.  
Fuck it all.  
Someone would put him out of his misery one of these nights.  
Preferably sooner rather than later.  
Because…  
He lurched towards the Impala. The watch on the dashboard said 7:23. It had been an estimated nine days, 7 hours and 23 minutes since Lucifer had risen. 223 hours and 23 minutes. 13403 minutes.

Did that mean anything? Nah, nothing meant anything. Not anymore.  
So he just drank and hunted, hunted and drank. And for every demon he offed, there were always four more waiting for a piece of him. Their numbers were definitely increasing.  
The because was still swimming around in his brain. Getting more persistent every minute.  
Not even the booze could shut it up for more than a few hours.  
Because his angel was gone.  
Had been gone for roughly 13405 minutes or so, give or take, depending on how long it had taken the archangels to kill him.  
Yeah, Dean was just about drunk enough for that thought. They killed him. Cas was gone. Cas wouldn’t be back. And Dean would have to make good on his word to stop the Apocalypse all by himself.  
Especially since Sammy…  
Especially since his brother had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.  
He laughed as he solidly cussed out the entire universe, a harsh laughter that had barbs, cutting into his chest and throat.

Dean came to a few hours later. No matter how drunk he got, he never got more than a few hours of oblivion. Two, three, sometimes four, never more.  
His head felt like it was going to burst and when he moved, he could feel his brain sliding around like egg yolk in a shell.  
He groped for his flask.  
His unsteady hand brushed the mask pendant and suddenly he was jolted by what felt like an electroshock.  
Suddenly, a white, searing noise filled his head. It hurt like shit and it took Dean a few moments to make sense of the sounds.  
“You will need to listen, Dean. Listen to me.”  
“Cas?”  
“Yes.”  
“Where the hell are you?”  
“Inside your pendant. Hiding.”  
“All this time???? Why the fuck did you wait so long to show up, dammit? I was worried sick, you asshole!”  
“I had to wait until your concussion got better. Otherwise listening to my voice might have killed you. It’s not good for you as it is, especially since you’ve been drinking so much, so we better make this quick.”  
“Just a peep, man, wouldn’t have hurt…”  
“Shut up, Dean and listen. You have to go find Jimmy.”  
“As in Jimmy Novak, your vessel?”  
“Yes. I had to abandon Jimmy when the archangels came to kill me. It looks as if I was successful in making them believe they had destroyed my essence. The only place I could flee to was you. I gave you some of my Grace when I remade you after pulling you out of hell and so I can always find you. It’s like a homing beacon and the pendant has sufficient power to serve as a temporary hiding place.”

Dean’s head was starting to throb in time with each of Castiel’s words. He guessed they didn’t have much talking time left until it would become definitely hazardous to his health to continue the conversation.  
“Why do I have to go find Jimmy, why not simply find you another vessel?”  
“Because I can only inhabit the vessel that was chosen for me. I cannot simply possess a human, like demons do. I thought the archangels would take care of Jimmy, I thought they would heal the damage done when they tried to kill me, but they just left him there and now I can’t even feel him anymore. You have to find him. I’m not even sure he is still alive.”  
Dean’s nose started to bleed, his ears hurt and his eyes felt like they would be popping from the sockets any minute now.  
“Much as I love our little chitchat, Cas, but I think we got to stop now before it kills me.”  
“Go find Jimmy. Please. And be careful. If the other angels find out about my hiding place, they will come after you with all they have got.”  
“Well, so would the demons. What a novel situation for me. NOT.”

Dean clutched his necklace tightly for a few seconds. Castiel was not dead. Not dead. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. He hadn’t even thought he was still capable of feeling joy at anything anymore, yet here he was, almost passing out from the sheer relief of having his angel back.  
Well, almost back.  
So, find Jimmy, Cas had said.  
Yeah, right, easy-peasy.  
He wiped the blood from under his nose and started the Impala’s engine.  
Now, where would the police bring a John Doe they found in a building that had probably been blasted to kingdom come?  
If Jimmy was too hurt to talk, they probably would just put him in the county hospital.  
It took him too long to get there.  
Too long as his impatient soul kept nagging for him to hurry the fuck up so Cas would get his meat suit back. Just so they would be back in business properly, of course.

Dean parked the Impala at the back of the ugly as fuck concrete cube that served as county hospital, took a deep breath and walked inside.  
He had to look worse than he thought.  
The pretty blonde receptionist looked at him with distaste and suspicion, as he asked about his supposed brother, describing Jimmy Novak to her in great detail. Still, she told him they had a man matching this description.  
Jimmy was in a coma.  
Shit.  
That was worse than expected.  
Dean thanked the receptionist and flashed his best smile at her.  
Didn’t do squat.  
Yeah, so he needed a shave and a shower, big deal. He shrugged his lack of success off and hurried down the corridor.

Dean stood at Jimmy Novak’s bedside and swallowed hard.  
The man looked terrible. They had put one of those hospital nightshirts on him that left your backside exposed to the elements and the mercy of doctors.  
Jimmy looked frail and strangely naked. It was odd, Dean thought, that so far he had only ever seen Cas’ vessel completely dressed. Even when Castiel had been called off that one time, Jimmy had always worn a shirt and suit pants. Now, the man looked small and vulnerable.  
“When you get back inside of him, Cas, will he heal?”  
“Yes.”  
“I need to hear him say he still wants to be your vessel, even after all of this!” Dean growled. Shit, Jimmy was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be caught up in shit like this, didn’t deserve to be beaten to a bloody pulp, only to be repossessed by the being which had gotten him in that state in the first place.  
“We need to get him out of here first. Then, I give you my word, I will leave him again so he can answer this question.”  
“Okay, deal. Let’s get this dog and pony show on the road, then.”  
Dean placed his necklace over Jimmy’s heart, as Cas had instructed him.  
There was a flash of white light.  
Blue eyes opened and it looked like his angel was back in the driver’s seat.

_You'll stand proud, face upheld_

They were successful at sneaking out of the hospital and it was a small miracle, given the fact that Dean had to improvise seven ways from Sunday and he wasn’t entirely certain he would be able to pull this shit off.  
The scrubs Dean had found for Cas looked decidedly odd on the angel, not to mention the awkward moment when Dean had to help Cas to put them on.  
Yeah, right, just what he needed. He had kept it brisk and professional, since the naked angel made him really uncomfortable.  
You weren’t supposed to see an honest to God angel of the Lord in the buff. And you weren’t supposed to... think about shit when you do.  
Dean put it firmly down to just being glad his angel was back.  
Nothing more, nothing less.  
Just joy at having this aggravating sumbitch back.

He should’ve shaved, at least.  
And yeah, he desperately needed a shower and being bruised and bloody himself didn’t help make him inconspicuous either.  
But they made it out of the hospital without being stopped more than 3 times, by people Dean just knocked unconscious and shoved into closets and unused rooms.  
Castiel was livid, but Dean rightly pointed out there was neither time nor sufficient back-up story to start discussing why a scruffy, beat-up, half drunk punk maneuvered an even more beat-up skinny guy wearing scrubs but no shoes out of the hospital.  
Castiel complained that the ground outside hurt his naked feet. Dean was unsympathetic.  
Castiel complained that Dean was walking too fast. Dean was unsympathetic.  
Castiel complained that the pants kept sliding down. Dean was unsympathetic.  
Even more so after he had to pull them back up himself twice, trying to pretend in vain that he hadn’t gotten a really good look at the angel’s dick in the process.  
He offered a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening when they finally reached the goddamned car.

He stopped the Impala in the middle of nowhere.  
“Okay, Cas, now’s the time for me to have my little chat with Jimmy.”  
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel whooshed out of Jimmy’s body and went back inside Dean’s necklace.  
“Hey, Jimmy.”  
Jimmy Novak cast a startled look around himself.  
“Where...”  
“My car, Jimmy. I asked Castiel to leave so I could ask you if you still want to be his vessel. When we found you, you were in a coma, because the archangels tried to kill Cas. So I need to know if you’re still good with this gig.”  
“I was in a coma?”  
“Yes. Castiel healed your body after I put him back inside of you, but you were pretty badly damaged.”  
“Why would archangels try to kill Castiel?”  
“He went rogue with me. It’s... complicated. There are angel traitors who want an Apocalypse to... clean up earth or something. I think we’re on the right side in this fight, but hell, what do I know. Lucifer has risen and we’re on the brink of the Apocalypse right now. And I need Cas to fight with me. If you will let him.”  
Jimmy Novak looked thoughtful.  
“I gave my body for this, because it was the right thing to do. I think it still is, so nothing has changed. I trust your judgement. Yours and Castiel’s. Put him back inside of me.”  
Dean let out the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding and wanted to place his pendant over Jimmy’s heart once more, but Castiel didn’t need the help this time.  
He returned to his vessel with just a tiny flash of white light.

They had bought Castiel new clothes. Turned out he could pretty much do anything with the clothes his vessel had worn, but could not manufacture new ones now that Jimmy was suitless.  
Cas insisted on a brand new holy tax accountant get-up, including the fucking trench. And there were stores that sold that shit.  
The new trench looked exactly like the old one. And the new blue tie was also a damn near perfect match. The suit, well, that had always been so nondescript that any odd black suit would do as a replacement.  
Underpants were a problem, since Dean had never seen them, but he figured Jimmy Novak to be a boxers type.  
Castiel fidgeted and fretted as Dean helped him put on the new clothes.  
And then Dean decided it was time for something to eat. And pie, definitely. Boy, did he deserve pie. Or at least a giant jar of extra cookies.

There were echoes in his mind.  
Echoes of Jimmy Novak.  
It hadn’t been like this before, but after he had returned to Jimmy’s comatose body, they were a constant part of his existence.  
Sometimes there was just the odd like and dislike. Some disjointed memories, some random experiences.  
Castiel at first tried to disregard them, found them annoying, but then, as Dean was helping him to put on his new clothes, he had started paying attention to them.  
They helped.  
Helped him understand some of the things Dean said, Dean did, or Dean thought.  
It seemed important to understand.  
Important for his mission, of course.

Jimmy Novak, being a righteous and heterosexual man, however, did not leave echoes behind that were helpful in any way regarding the strange feeling that pooled in the pit of the angel’s stomach every time the corners of those green eyes crinkled in mostly inappropriate mirth.  
They were not helpful when it came to explain why Castiel would want to find out what it would feel like to run his thumb over the ginger stubble on Dean’s chin.  
And they were decidedly not helping with making Castiel understand why he wanted to lick the small dribble of sauce from the edge of Dean’s lips in the middle of a diner.  
What they were very good at explaining, however, was that what was happening inside the angel’s pants was called an erection and there was no way to explain that away.  
Castiel should not be having these feelings, should not look at a human being with lust and most of all should not want to touch, feel, taste Dean Winchester.

There were echoes of Jimmy Novak stroking his penis reverberating through his mind now.  
Echoes of how that had made Jimmy feel.  
Castiel was fighting the urge to touch himself under the cheap Formica table.  
He wanted to touch Dean more than he wanted to touch himself, of course, but that was completely out of the question.  
He couldn’t risk seeing not lust, not love, but disgust in those green eyes.  
“Hey, Cas, what’s with the pensive stare?”  
“Nothing.” The angel shook himself. “I just wonder why they called this diner The Three French Hens. There’s nothing French on the menu at all.”  
“Man, the weird workings of your mind… Doesn’t matter, really, does it? Food’s good. Are you eating your pie or not?”  
Castiel wordlessly pushed his plate over to Dean.

_Your mysterious eyes cannot help you_

“So, what do we do next, Cas? How do we find Lucifer?”  
“Lucifer is not as yet our top priority, Dean. The Apocalypse will start, as it is written, with the Horsemen. They are imprisoned in special... well, cages is probably the best word to use. Lucifer won’t go to open them himself, the risk would be too great, as he is not as yet at his full strength. He will send some of his minions to do that task.”  
“So, no Horsemen, no Apocalypse?”  
“Basically, yes. The problem is that they have already sprung 3 of the cages and are already looking for the 4th.”  
“Shit. Do you know where that 4th cage is?”  
“Yes. But first, we must fetch your weapon.”  
“My weapon? Hell, Cas, I got tons of weapons in the Impala.”  
“The Horsemen can’t be killed that easily. On top of that, you will need this weapon to fight Lucifer, too.”

Speaking of the devil… Lucifer was actually busy stroking Sam’s thigh at that very moment. They were sitting on Lucifer’s throne, limbs in a tangle.  
Sam hadn’t felt this good in a long time.  
He found it strangely difficult to remember the faces of people he may have known before or the reason it had seemed so urgent to stop Lucifer from rising. He could in fact recall less and less of his life before Lucifer’s hands brought his other self into this world.  
All he wanted was more of Lucifer’s hands on his body, more of Lucifer’s cock inside of him, more of Lucifer’s tongue teasing his tongue, more knife play, more bondage, just more of everything.  
“There are those who would stop me, Sam. Hurt me, even, if they could.”  
“Tell me who they are and I will kill them all for you,” Sam said dreamily.  
“Even your brother?”  
“What brother?”  
Lucifer laughed and rewarded his new pet by grasping Sam’s cock in his hand, as his other hand got busy invading elsewhere.

Castiel directed Dean to a lonely place in the desert.  
Why couldn’t these things ever go down in a petting zoo, or a diner or something just not outright creepy even before the creepy shit went down?  
There was a huge hole in the ground that looked like a bomb crater.  
Castiel went white and there was a strange, keening noise coming from the angel.  
“Lemme guess, Cas, not a good thing, right?”  
“He’s gone. Gone already. That wasn’t… supposed to happen!”  
“Well, I take it things just got a gadzillion times worse and infinitely harder to put to rights, huh?”  
“Yes. You could say that.”  
“What now, then?”  
“Now we must keep the Horsemen from completing their work. We can still stop them, it just got…”  
“Yeah, like I said, it just got harder. Doesn’t it always? And I really think we should have a theme song when shit like this goes down. Because this kind of crap ALWAYS happens, when I’m involved. Just tell me plainly, Cas, is it me? Do I have the shit happens gene or something? IS IT ME, CAS?”  
“No, Dean. But it may very well be me.”  
Castiel stood there in his stupid trench coat, looking lost and desperate. But what really got to Dean was knowing his angel would still follow through, no matter the cost to himself, no matter just how beaten down he was.  
So he quietly put a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezed gently before pulling him carefully back towards the Impala.


	3. The Desperate Kingdom of Love 3/?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU ending for 4.22, continued: Dean and Cas are still trying to stop the Apocalypse and keep each other from going to pieces in the process. For those who have kept abreast with the stuff I’m writing, there is one more of the 12 days of porn and a passage from my first attempt at slashing Dean and Cas recycled in this bit, they all just fall so perfectly into place that I hardly have to edit a thing. Hence, this one’s a bit on the long side.

_**The Desperate Kingdom of Love 3/? SPN Dean/Castiel** _   


** Title:  ** The Desperate Kingdom of Love 3/?   
**Disclaimer:** I aim to misbehave, but I don’t aim to profit from it. Will return them when finished, as always a little the worse for wear, but mostly undamaged. Songs used will be listed and credited. Used for title and chapter headlines: The Desperate Kingdom of Love (written by P.J. Harvey, but I prefer the Giant Sand or C.J. Chenier versions)   
** Rating:  ** NC-17   
** Genre:  ** slash   
**Word Count:** ~6001   
** Characters/Pairings:  ** Dean/Cas, Sam/Lucifer, Lilith, Ruby, Bobby   
** Warnings:  ** angst, torture, kink, slash, language, booze, the lot   
** Summary: ** AU ending for 4.22, continued: Dean and Cas are still trying to stop the Apocalypse and keep each other from going to pieces in the process. For those who have kept abreast with the stuff I’m writing, there is one more of the 12 days of porn and a passage from my first attempt at slashing Dean and Cas recycled in this bit, they all just fall so perfectly into place that I hardly have to edit a thing. Hence, this one’s a bit on the long side.  
Still not finished with this, though. Nuh-uh. Am having far too much fun!  


 

  
 _Put on your spurs, swagger around  
_  
“We’re not making any progress at all, Cas.” Dean growled frustratedly. He was studying the clues they had come up with as to what the next steps of the Horsemen might be, but so far, they had come up with exactly zilch. Nix, zip, diddley.  
Dean ran his hand through his hair, den swept it over his eyes. He was beyond tired.  
“You should rest, Dean.” Cas said, voice soft, head tilted.  
“Can’t. If we assume the devil’s got Sammy and had in fact had him in his clutches all those days, there’s no telling what state he is in. We have to find him, we have to at least slow down the goddamned Horsemen, we have to ultimately stop Lucifer and the fucking Apocalypse. I can tell you, sleep is so beyond not on my mind right now, it’s unreal.”  
He reached for the whisky bottle, when Cas’ hand suddenly gripped his wrist like a steel vise.  
“I fail to see how that helps finding the answers we are looking for. All this does is mess you up and I will not stand by and allow you to self-destruct.”  
Dean pulled back his hand. No use fighting an angel. Castiel could force him if he thought he had to and it was quite clear from the stance and the look in his eyes that he was pretty determined not to let Dean drink anymore.

He ran his hand over his reddened eyes again.  
“Cas, it’s easy for you to take the moral high ground with me, you didn’t just lose your brother to the devil, didn’t just fail in stopping Lucifer from rising, didn’t think the whole gig had cost you’re ang... cost a lot of people their lives.”  
“I have no right to take the moral high ground anymore. It was me who released Sam from the panic room.”  
The silence in the dingy room was deafening.  
Dean was taking deep breaths, as if he couldn’t draw enough oxygen into his lungs.  
His face was chalk white.  
“What?” Cas jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice. It was completely flat, cold, dead. Castiel had never heard the human use anything like this tone in all the time he had watched over Dean.  
“I had orders to do so. At the time, I believed them to come from my Father, but now I know I was tricked. I… I do not know how to apologize. There never was any need before. I wish to apologize to you, but I do not know what words would be able to make you forgive what I did.”  
“Nothing comes to mind.” Still the same awful, flat, dead voice, delivering four words with an awful finality.  
Dean got up and walked out of the motel room.

Cas contemplated following him outside, but it seemed unwise.  
He hadn’t even realized that he had gotten up and taken three steps towards the door, when reason returned to him.  
With a sigh, he sat back down.  
Dean wouldn’t listen.  
Dean would get drunk.  
And he would get into a fight.  
Most likely a bad one, one he wasn’t going to win easily. One that would leave him bleeding and torn in some alley, easy prey for any stray demon in the area.  
Castiel contemplated his options and decided to follow Dean invisibly.  
Much to the angel’s surprise, though, Dean did not walk towards the bar across the road, but walked behind the motel, into the woods.  
When he was out of earshot of the motel, Dean took out the whisky bottle he had hidden under his jacket and emptied it in one long pull.  
Then he started hitting a tree with his bare fists.  
Cas reached him after only three or four punches, but Dean had put his whole weight behind them and his hands already looked like minced meat.  
“Dean, no. Please. Stop.”

Dean fought Cas with all his strength, daring the angel to hurt him.  
“Please, Dean, I am so sorry, please, stop. Please.”  
Cas sounded like he was sobbing.  
Suddenly, Dean felt Castiels lips on his neck.  
Surely that only felt like a kiss.  
Couldn’t really be one.  
He felt Castiel’s arms holding him tight in a grip that was nothing like the kind of hold the angel had had on him only moments before. Cas’ breath on Dean’s neck was hot and laboured.  
“Please stop hurting yourself because of what I did, please.”  
“You bastard, you fucking bastard.”  
“Yes. I’m sorry. Please, Dean, would it help if I let you hurt me? I… Just tell me what would make you feel better, I am so… I am so sorry, can’t you see?”

All the energy left Dean’s body in a rush and he slumped forward, would have fallen, too, if Cas hadn’t gripped him so tightly.  
“Cas… how could you do that to me. You must have known what that would do to me. How can you claim to be there for me, when you betray me like that?”  
Dean drew a shaky breath.  
“I believed it to be the right thing to do, Dean, the thing that the Lord commanded me to do, that is all I can say in my defense.”  
“That’s a piss poor defense, Cas. Piss poor.”  
“If I let go of you now, will you resume hurting yourself?”  
After a moment’s consideration, Dean said: “No. I’m fine, dude, let go.”  
Fine was a term that, when used by Dean Winchester, hid more meanings than Castiel had ever assumed possible.  
Still, he let go and they walked back to the motel in silence, Cas surreptitiously steadying Dean as they went when the whisky finally hit his system.

 _And I'll become like a boy  
_  
Castiel was outside, watching the rising sun, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
“You okay?” asked Dean in his most growly “this is not a chick flick moment” voice.  
“Fine.”  
The hand remained firmly in place. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the hunter’s thumb caressed Castiel’s shoulder, but surely that was Cas’ overactive imagination.  
Dean sighed.  When he woke and found the angel gone, he had assumed that Cas was doing some procrastinating about the fact that he had been the one who at the end of the day was to blame for the mess they were in now. Wouldn’t do shit, things were as they were and they had to deal with that. Together. So they would have to find a way to deal with this particular snippet of shittyness and just move on.  
Dean was standing so close to Castiel that the angel could feel the man’s breath caress his ear.  
Something funny happened in the pit of Castiel’s stomach.  
“Cas, I don’t know what it is, but “fine” it sure as hell ain’t. Tell me.”  
He let his hand trail down Castiel’s back, down to Cas’ side, effectively pulling the angel in something like a half embrace.

Which probably wasn’t a good idea, given the fact that Dean these days was having totally improper thoughts about the angel even when the said angel was miles away.  
Touching sent his brain straight to the gutter and kept it there.  
With a vengeance.  
“Good.” Castiel’s voice sounded strained and husky as he quickly turned to Dean and kissed him hard on the lips.  
“Huh.” said Dean eloquently, as Cas pulled away.  
“I like your brain in the gutter.” Whispered Castiel, lifting his hand to run his thumb over Dean’s lower lip.  
“You… you don’t listen in to people’s thoughts, man, that is.. so rude!”  
Castiel tilted his head, as he pondered this.  
Dean thought this little head tilting quirk was absolutely adorable. Or, adorkable.  
He allowed his fingers to slide slightly and play over Cas’ side, just a little bit above the waistband.  
Castiel made a small sound.  
It may well have been a moan of pleasure.

“Cas… what the fuck, dude?”  
The angel looked distraught.  
“I thought you guys weren’t allowed, you know…”  
“I don’t know what the rules are anymore, Dean. Everything changed and there is nobody telling me anything anymore. No orders. No trusted circle of brothers to support me. All there is, is you.”  
The angel sounded so lost that Dean just couldn’t come up with any glib comeback. Loss, he understood. Pain, he was familiar with. Betrayal, yeah, he got that. And for the first time, Dean felt like he had reached some common ground with Cas.  
So he just pulled his angel close and stopped worrying about right and wrong, sexual orientation issues and all the other crap that may have been important at some point.  
But right now, all that they had was each other.  
Dean and Cas against the Apocalypse.  
It should have been one helluva scary thought, but at that moment, it meant they belonged somewhere.  
Even if that somewhere was just with each other.

It was Castiel who broke the embrace in the end.  
“There is more bad news. I went to see a medium I knew of.”  
“Lemme guess, she told you the soundtrack to the Apocalypse would be sung by Celine Dion, huh?” Dean said, trying to keep it light.  
“Dean… I am so sorry. The medium said that Sam was leading Lucifer’s army and preparing the way for the Apocalypse.”  
The bottom, or what was left of it, fell out of Dean’s world.  
“How…,” Dean cleared his throat. His vocal chords were not cooperating.  
“How reliable is the medium?”  
“She’s as good as Pamela, but a whole lot less reckless. She is completely reliable, I’m afraid.”  
Dean groaned.  
“I need to make sure the Horsemen get delayed some more. I have to leave for a while. I don’t want to. I… don’t want to.”  
Cas ran his right hand through Dean’s hair and let it come to rest on Dean’s shoulder.  
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this. I wish I hadn’t caused this.”  
The angel looked desperate, completely out of his element.  
Dean just shook his head and walked back into the motel.

 _At the end of this burning world_

Sam walked past a mirror.  
He paused as he caught sight of his reflection.  
He looked into his own yellow eyes.  
Suddenly, there was another face superimposed over his own. The face looked vaguely familiar, as green eyes looked desperately at him and a single tear ran down the man’s beaten face.  
Sam shrugged. Probably some soul trapped in the old house. Nothing to worry about.  
He walked on, eager to report to his master. He had made good progress with the task Lucifer had entrusted to him. He was readying the last items to start the Apocalypse. As soon as the Horsemen got there, the armies of hell would walk free and lay the world to waste.

Sam smiled.  
His master would be so pleased.  
And he himself would be rewarded, he was sure. Or maybe punished. As long as he would feel his master’s cock inside of him, it was all the same to him.  
He ran his hand over the erection that was already tenting his pants.  
The only thing that annoyed him was that the whole Apocalypse business was taking so long. There were so many elaborate rituals to go through, so many stupid portents of doom to wait for.  
Just now, he had been in Maryland, collecting rare artifacts that would unlock another secret room that had kept its awful occupants tucked away until their day would come. The Apocalypse would be nothing like even the grizzliest medieval painting depicted. It would be infinitely worse.  
It would be beyond beautiful.  
Sam had lost track of time completely, but he thought in the end it wouldn’t matter. After all, his master would rule for eternity and Sam would make sure he would be right there beside him.

Lucifer sat on his throne in the large basement room of the old mansion. Or rather, he sprawled lazily, surrounded by several nubile women who were busy taking turns in pleasuring their master.  
Sam growled. That was his place, not theirs. They were nothing, nothing!  
Lucifer turned at the sound and smiled wickedly at Sam. He laced his fingers through the redhead who was currently sucking on his dick like there was no tomorrow.  
He kept his eyes locked with Sam’s, as he encouraged the woman to take him inside deeper still.  
Sam shook with helpless rage and jealousy, but he knew he wasn’t allowed to look away. So he just stood there and watched as Lucifer’s hips started to buck and his eyes glazed over with his release.  
Sam knew it meant that he would be punished later.  
Such primitive emotions as jealousy weren’t allowed.  
Sam licked his lips as he shuddered with anticipation at the thought of what his master would do to him.

Dean sprawled on the dingy sofa in front of the tv. He had made good progress through a bottle of whisky and was watching Casablanca.  
With the Apocalypse looming near and Sam apparently on the wrong side of the line between good and evil, he just got the booze out and tried to get his brain to shut the fuck up as fast as he could.  
Good thing Cas wasn’t around. When the angel was around, Dean had learned the hard way to keep his drinking down.  
Castiel had last night used his angel mojo to force Dean to throw up all the booze and more besides until he had felt like he’d cough up his entire intestines with the next heave.  
So, he would stay sober from here on out when Cas was around.  
Which the angel was not right now.  
He was drunk, he was horny, he was alone and Ingrid Bergman was starting to look hotter by the minute.  
He lazily started to stroke himself, rubbing his thumb hard down along the fabric next to the zipper.  When that seemed to get old as well as uncomfortably restricted, he opened the zipper and took his dick out. He ran his hand over his shaft, squeezing lightly, found his rhythm and kept going.  
Easy as pie, no conscious thought necessary, or even wanted.

He took another swig of whisky, then realized that the bottle was all but empty, with just a tiny dreg left. He shrugged and finished it off promptly.  
He started to giggle, as he kept tossing himself off watching some goddamned black and white movie. Couldn’t stop giggling, didn’t even know why.  
Was just the giggly stage of absolute plasteredness, he thought and shrugged again. He almost fell off the sofa as a result, which made him giggle even harder.  
Bergman was looking real hot in that shot.  
Where the hell was Cas, anyway.  
Had been gone for a long time.  
With his stupid feathery hair and those blue eyes… Mmmh, those blue eyes. And that firm, slim body… Skin had felt so soft when he had dressed his angel. So soft. And his lips on Dean’s. So hesitant, but so firm and warm and nice and…  
Fuck. No thinking about that... not.... now...  
He gave himself another firm stroke and came.  
He fell asleep almost immediately after, Casablanca droning on in the background.

 _A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is still a sigh_

 _He was walking through a narrow street that smelled of camels, urine, spices and frying fat.  
Dean strode purposefully towards Castiel’s Bar.  
He simply had to persuade his old lover to ensure that he could leave Casablanca with his brother Sam Laszlo.  
He entered the bar and paused to get his bearings.  
Cas was sitting at the bar, he noticed immediately.  
His mussed up, feathery black hair looked exactly as appealing as he remembered it and he just knew those blue eyes would be just a soulful and piercing as they used to be. Castiel’s lithe frame was clad in his customary straight suit, something like the kink version of a tax accountant’s get-up. His ever-present trench was folded neatly on the stool next to him._

 _Dean sauntered over, trying to look nonchalant and carefree, as he sat down on the stool on the other side of Castiel.  
“Hey Cas.” So far, so good. Sounded reasonably suave.  
“Dean.” Castiel said, in a low voice that did not bode well.  
Cas took a sip of his whisky. Dean signaled the barman to hit him with one, too.  
“Of all the bars, Dean, of all the bars…” Cas half-growled. “What are you doing here?”  
Cas tilted his head in the annoying manner he always tilted it when he was puzzled.  
Dean purposefully placed his hand on top of the other man’s. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  
Castiel pulled his hand away as if he had gotten burned.  
“You lost the right to touch me a long time ago, Dean.”  
It killed Dean, the way Cas could convey utter disgust, anger and joy without ever using a single swear word. Mostly, he even managed without any actual words. His expressive eyes and those weird little stances of his were usually enough._

 _“What do you want, Dean?”  
“I need your help.”  
Dean paused. Castiel remained silent.  
“Sam and I need to get out of here, fast. There are bad people after us, Cas, they are real monsters. Demons. And they’re gunning for Sam.”  
“And you, being Daddy’s good little soldier like you are, won’t stop at anything to get your brother away from them. Even if it means coming to me. Even though you know you have nothing to expect from me. Even if it will mean making a deal that will take you to hell and back.”  
Castiel stared into his drink as he spoke and Dean suddenly realized that Cas was stinking drunk. Which didn’t tally with the Castiel he knew intimately, the model of sobriety, the veritable angel of righteousness.  
“Can we go somewhere more quiet, please, Cas?” Dean said softly.  
“Sure. C’mon.”_

 _Castiel slid from the bar stool and led the way to the bar’s office. He sat behind the desk, drink still firmly in hand and looked up at Dean.  
“So?”  
Dean sat down in the old leather armchair. The old upholstery felt so familiar under Dean’s palms that he relaxed out of habit.  
“You are absolutely right, Cas. I will do anything to get Sam to safety. Anything. You want revenge, fine. You want to hurt me something awful, fine. Just anything you want, I give it to you if you get Sam out of here.”  
“And you are sure your brother merits such loyalty, after all he has done? Being what he is?”  
“Doesn’t change a thing. He’s my brother, he’s my responsibility. Just name your price.”  
Castiel swirled the whisky around in his tumbler. He appeared to be thinking hard about the way he should word what he wanted from Dean. How do you con a con man? Most likely, you didn’t, but Dean thought Cas would try._

 _“You will come over here at my bidding. You will service me in any way I require.  For every time I feel fully satisfied, I will give you a golden ring. Once you have won five golden rings, you are free to go and I will see that you are taken anywhere you wish to go. In style.”  
“No. Takes too long. Sam needs to get out of here immediately.” Dean said, voice gruff.  
Castiel held up his hand.  
“I will get Sam out of town on the morning plane. I know you will not go back on your word. You will look for loopholes, of course, but you won’t break a promise.”  
He looked directly into Dean’s eyes.  
“Okay,” said Dean, “deal. Soon’s Sammy is outta here, I’m yours until I got those stupid golden rings.”  
Dean was desperate, utterly desperate. That deal didn’t sound half bad to him. He could do that. Easily. And Sam would be out of there the next morning._

 _Dean stood on the runway and watched Sam’s plane vanish in the distance. Everything had gone smoothly, but then, he hadn’t expected anything less from Castiel.  
The man was Mr. Organized and it had driven Dean to distraction in the past.  
He hadn’t let on towards Sammy, but after his initial euphoria had died down, he had started to worry about the deal with Cas. He didn’t know what his ex would do to him, how hard he’d make it to win those goddamned rings.  
Castiel had seemed almost like a stranger last night. Dean had never seen him drunk before and he had to admit it had scared him. Especially since he couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be a regular occurrence these days.  
So Dean was decidedly getting uncomfortable about the deal he had made, to put it mildly. Okay, it might beat making a deal with the devil – and Dean was pretty certain had the opportunity presented itself, he’d done that too, to get his brother to safety._

 _As he was getting closer to Castiel’s Bar, Dean grew more and more apprehensive. He walked up the familiar steps on the side of the building, which led to Cas’ apartment, and knocked on the door.  
Castiel opened and stepped aside immediately to let Dean inside.  
“Did Sam get out alright?” Castiel asked in a neutral voice.  
“As expected, yes.”  
Dean looked around the apartment, which was still as he remembered it, stark white all over and spotlessly clean.  
The only splash of color was a dark red rug in front of the fireplace.  
Dean felt heat flood his entire body as he recalled all the things they had done on that rug and how soft it had felt against his skin.  
There was soft piano music tinkling from the speakers of Cas’ excellent sound system  
.  
Castiel was leaning against the wall, completely immobile.  
He was in shirtsleeves, but still wore his goddamned eternal blue tie. His shirt looked crisp and cool and Dean found himself wanting to just walk up to Cas and rip it clean off his lithe body.  
He tried to pull himself together, licked his lips and asked: “So, Cas, what do you want me to do now?”  
He hated how husky his voice sounded.  
Castiel wordlessly crooked his finger. Dean crossed the distance with a few steps, then looked at Cas expectantly.  
“On your knees, if you please.” said Castiel, sounding almost bored in his detachment.  
Dean knelt in front of Cas.  
“As I recall, your blow jobs were always quite spectacular.” Cas said in the same flat voice.  
Dean swallowed hard and opened the fly on Cas’ soft woolen trousers  
.  
Cas was wearing boxers, Dean noted with an equal mix of surprise and delight. He had told Castiel over and over how much better he liked boxers, but Cas had stubbornly insisted on wearing briefs the entire time they had been together.  
Dean placed his lips against the fabric and gently sucked Cas’ soft member to attention. He was please to hear the sharp intake of breath above him, as he slid the boxers down and took Cas’ dick in his mouth. Dean’s fingers caressed Castiel’s balls, stroking, squeezing and tickling softly, while he put his mouth to work.  
He had almost forgotten just how much he loved the taste of Cas. Dean expertly made use of his tongue, lips and teeth, letting up or increasing the pressure as needed and was rewarded by low, desperate moans and Cas’ hands gripping his short hair tightly, urging him on.  
Cas’ hips started bucking helplessly and Dean took him in deep right before Cas started to come in hot spurts into Dean’s mouth._

 _Castiel let go of Dean’s hair, disengaged his cock from Dean’s mouth, pulled up boxers and pants, zipped himself and walked briskly away from Dean’s kneeling form.  
He sat on the sofa, face totally composed, as if he had never moaned and whimpered, as if he had never bucked against Dean’s lips, as if he hadn’t just come a mere minute previously.  
“Come here.” he commanded voice calm and collected.  
Dean got up, walked over and sat on the sofa next to Castiel. So this was what Cas had been playing at. Pretending never to be satisfied, so Dean wouldn’t ever get his five golden rings.  
Fucking asshole.  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Castiel said: “Give me your right hand.”  
He gingerly held Dean’s hand with two fingers and slipped a white gold ring with a geometric pattern on Dean’s right thumb. It was a perfect fit.  
“You may leave now. Come back to the bar this evening.” Cas said dismissively.  
Dean left, surprised and more than slightly shook up._

 _He ran to the dingy hotel he had booked a room in and ripped his clothes from his body, barely taking the time to close the door to his room behind him. He was so beyond aroused and the hard-on inside his jeans had been killing him. He tossed himself off furiously on the bed, thinking of Castiel’s eyes, his taste, his familiar body under his hands, Cas inside of him. It only took a minute to come. The rough chafing of his new ring on his dick added a whole new thrill to the act.  
He lay on the bed, spent, but not really sated. He held his hand up. The ring was quite beautiful, he thought. Trust Cas to pick something that was quintessential Dean. White gold, not red; simple, yet fetching geometric patterns. He ran his thumb over the surface appreciatively  
.  
When he walked the few yards from his hotel to the bar that evening, Dean felt a lot less apprehensive than he had that morning. He should’ve known that Cas would play fair. Castiel was fairness personified and Dean actually felt embarrassed by his earlier fears.  
Cas was once more sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. Dean walked over and sat down next to him.  
“Hey, Cas.”  
“Dean.” Cas gave a small nod to acknowledge his presence.  
Dean was wondering just how drunk Cas already was. There was no telling, as Cas was all about control and Dean suspected he’d have to be totally wasted before he’d actually slip in any way.  
So Dean once more tentatively placed his hand on Cas’.  
This time, Castiel left his had where it was._

 _“Do you like the ring I chose?” Cas asked in a low, husky voice.  
“It’s… perfect, actually.”  
“Good. Now go up to the apartment and wait for me there.”  
“Can’t you come with me right away?” Dean asked, putting a bit of flirtatiousness in his manner. He didn’t want Cas to stay in the bar and keep on drinking.  
“No. Go upstairs and wait for me.” Cas said with a hint of steel in his voice.  
Dean obeyed. He knew from experience that anything else would be a waste of time and effort and might even end in making him acutely miserable.  
He leaned over, kissed Castiel softly on the temple and whispered into his ear: “Cas, please, don’t get drunk. I don’t like that, please.”  
Castiel turned to him and looked him directly in the eye for the first time that day. His gaze was steady and clear.  
“Alright, Dean. Now leave.”_

 _It was late when Castiel finally walked through the door. Dean had fallen asleep on the sofa, but at the sound of the opening door, he practically snapped to attention.  
“Take off your clothes.” Cas said quietly.  
Dean got up and started shrugging out of his shirt.  
“Quite the conversationalist you are these days, Cas.”  
“You will kindly keep your mouth shut unless I tell you to use it for something worthwhile. Conversation was not part of our deal,” Castiel snapped. “Now get naked.”  
Dean hurried up. Socks, pants, boxers, all went on the same untidy heap as his shirt and tee.  
Castiel settled on the sofa and just looked at Dean, head to toe. Stared hard, intent, until Dean became decidedly flustered and his dick took on a life of its own.  
He started to fidget._

 _“There’s lube in the blue vase on that shelf there. Go get it. Then fuck me.” Castiel said in the same flat, steely voice he had used previously.  
When Dean turned back towards the sofa, lube in hand, he saw that Cas had put a blanket on the sofa and had let his pants down. Fastidious as ever, Dean thought, thinking of the white leather sofa first.  
Dean settled himself astride Castiel.  
When he tried to kiss Cas, however, he turned his face away.  
“I want to be fucked good and proper. Nothing more, nothing less.” Cas said in a cold, even voice.  
Dean was taken aback. He nevertheless slipped his hand between Cas’ shirt and his neck, intending to undo the buttons.  
“I said just fuck me. “ Castiel said with a lot of emphasis.  
“Okay, you damned bastard, I fuck you alright.” Dean snarled._

 _He slapped lube on his hand, then got up, flipped and tilted Cas until his ass was easily accessible.  
Well, if the tight-assed bastard didn’t want foreplay, he the fuck did not qualify for being loosened up, either. So Dean just spread the lube over his dick and impaled Cas’ ass without further ado.  
Cas grunted.  
It was sure to hurt like shit, but Dean was past caring. He pulled back and shoved forward forcefully again, eliciting a painful gasp from Castiel.  
The next thrusts were more gentle, as Dean was trying to establish a steady rhythm. He grasped Cas’ dick in his hand. Castiel was hard, in spite of or because of the rough play Dean didn’t know.  
He started stroking Cas in synch with his thrusts and was rewarded by a soft, pleading moan. That sound drove Dean frantic with need and he increased the pace further, feeling Castiel’s hips buck and shudder as he was driving them both over the edge. Cas screamed as he came.  
Dean felt dizzy afterwards, but he followed his plan through regardless.  
He pulled out quickly and walked to the bathroom to clean himself off, as if it all hadn’t done a thing for him. Payback’s a bitch, dude.  
Only there in the cool bathroom did he allow himself the luxury to sink on the toilet seat and think about how amazing it had felt to be inside Cas again._

 _Dean woke up the next day around noon with the hangover of the century. He had wordlessly dressed and left Castiel’s place to go get shitfaced on a bottle of cheap whisky in his shitty hotel room. He had barely paused long enough for Cas to slip the second ring on his index finger. Another perfect fit, another beautiful white gold ring with a different pattern than the last one.  
He swore as he remembered that he had been ordered to Cas’ apartment by noon, which made him late already.  
By the time he burst through the door, Castiel had seemingly used the waiting period to get some serious drinking in. There was an empty brandy bottle on the table and Cas looked like hell.  
What really shocked Dean, however, was the serious array of SM gear on the sofa. All manners of whips and chains, even wickedly glinting knives._

 _“Took your time, Dean, didn’t you.” said Cas, enunciating much to carefully. “Today we will see if you are any good at dispensing physical pain.”  
“Oh no we won’t! What the hell are you playing at, Castiel?” Dean snarled. “You make me perform acts on your body without any participation on your side, you don’t want any niceties, you seem to want me to hurt you… What the fuck is your game?”  
Cas was swaying slightly as he groped for the right words.  
He smiled unpleasantly and said: “I am trying to get you the fuck out of my system.” He snorted a laugh. “Literally. Only, it’s not working at all.”  
“The way you’re pushing me, it looks more like your angling for a fight.”  
“I’m actually angling for you to put me out of my misery.”  
“What?”  
“You all but killed me when you left me. I can’t forget you, you can do anything to me, anything at all and still I can’t help but love you. Just finish the job and be on your way. I don’t care if I live or die, either way is fine for me. Just don’t make me live like this any longer. There isn’t enough booze in the world to dull this pain.”  
“Have you gone mental?”  
“Yes, probably.” Cas glared at him, then made a sharp movement with his hand. “Get the fuck out of here.”_

 _With that, Cas tossed the three remaining rings at Dean.  
“Take them and leave. You’re free to go. Show the rings to the bartender. He’ll give you your travel documents and some cash.”  
“That’s not our deal.” Dean said, suddenly quiet and desperate. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t walk out that door, not ever seeing Cas again.  
“I made the deal, I can break it, too. Get out.”  
Dean walked over to Cas and roughly grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket. He pulled Castiel up and kissed him hard. Cas’ mouth opened for him immediately and Dean greedily plunged his tongue in, savoring the taste of Cas.  
“I won’t go. I love you.” he gasped when they came up for air.  
“I love you too, Dean. Always have, always will. But you just left me without a word. Why did you leave me?”  
“Sam. I had to take care of Sammy.”  
“One day, Sam will have to take care of himself. One day, he will have to face the consequences of his deeds.” Castiel said darkly, as they proceeded to tear each other’s clothes off.  
After that, there was no room for talking anymore._

Dean awoke when he came.  
“Holy crap,” he gasped, “what kind of a fucked up dream was that!”  
He had just finished cleaning the spunk off his stomach and gotten himself decent again, when Castiel materialized in front of him.  
“Jumpin’ Jaysus, Cas. Stop doing that to me!” he yelled.  
“You are drunk.”  
“No shit, Sherlock.”  
“You drink entirely too much of late. It worries me. I thought I had made that clear the last time.”  
Dean looked at Castiel, dumbfounded.  
“You worry about me?”  
“You are my charge, you are needed to fight the Apocalypse. Certainly I worry when you do things that are detrimental to your health.” Cas said with that strange, obstinate thrust of his chin that always signaled the angel was aggravated.  
“Why are you here, Cas. I mean, really. You haven’t just come to lecture me on the evils of drinking, have you?” Dean asked, running his hand through his hair.  
“No.”  
“So?”

Castiel walked over to the window and peered intently outside. If Dean didn’t know better, he would say the angel was stalling.  
“Sometime this century would be nice, Cas.”  
“The ring you were always wearing on your thumb.”  
“What of it?”  
“You lost it when Alistair…”  
“Yeah. Not a good subject. Can it.”  
“I thought… I thought you might like a new one.” Castiel’s voice was soft and almost uncertain.  
“You… you got me a new ring?”  
“Yes. If you want it, that is.”  
“Sure do.”  
Cas walked over to Dean and took his right hand. He held it gently with two fingers and slipped a beautiful white gold ring with geometric patterns on Dean’s thumb. It was a perfect fit.  
Dean couldn’t believe his eyes.  
“Dude, have you been spying on my dream just now?”  
Castiel looked at him with his patented deadpan gaze.  
Then suddenly and completely unexpectedly, he smiled. It was brilliant, open, heartbreaking, warming, lovely and out and out sexy.  
“Play it again, Dean.”  
It might just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.  
   



	4. Chapter 4

__  
**The Desperate Kingdom of Love 4/? SPN Dean/Castiel**   


 

  
_In the desperate kingdom of love_

Dean stood shivering in an old graveyard somewhere in Greenland.  
Fucking Greenland, of all things.  
Cas had woken him up and whisked him to this shitty, icy place, pressed a goddamned shovel in his hand, pointed to a grave and told him tersely to get digging.  
The graveyard looked to be as old as time itself.  
Most markers couldn’t be deciphered anymore, but on some Dean could make out markings that looked like old Norse runes. It was an eerie place, but it felt clean, unspoiled. Remote, forgotten and ancient, but not really creepy or tarnished with evil in the least.  
The ground had been hard, but thankfully not frozen and Dean had unearthed an old metal box.  
Cas had taken it quickly and was now running his fingers over the runes and markings on its surface.  
“Yes. Finally!” Castiel smiled at Dean.  
“Oh, so this is a good thing, then?”  
“Yes. A very good thing. A very good thing indeed.”  
“You know, I just don’t quite understand what you needed me for in this gig.” Dean said, shivering where he stood. That goddamned wind went straight through all his clothes. Damn, it actually even felt like it went straight through to his bones.  
“Well, I am an angel of the Lord.”  
“SO?”  
“I do not dig.” Cas said, expression totally deadpan.  
Dean snorted.

They had needed a break so badly that Dean almost couldn’t believe that they now finally had got it. The Horsemen were just never showing up where they were supposed to show up, Lucifer and Sam remained gone, but finally fate smiled at them.  
Cas pulled him into a quick, tight embrace and smiled again.  
“We may have the very thing to put a stop to Lucifer’s entire plan.”  
With that, Dean was whisked back to his warm motel room.  
Without Cas.  
“Brilliant. Just don’t give me no concrete information, man. ‘S not that I need them, right?” Dean growled to the empty air in general.  
He took his clothes off and snuggled back under the covers.  
Of course, he had been away just long enough so the bed had gone cold in the meantime. Even so, it was warmer than his own body was right now, so he sighed contentedly and tried to go back to sleep.

  
Lucifer was pissed off.  
That was a sight to see, but only if seen from afar. Preferably behind reinforced glass.  
If seen up close and personal, however, it was downright scary and definitely hazardous to one’s health.  
Sam was shaking, as he knelt before his master.  
   
He had failed to procure the hand of Týr and now he was going to be punished. And this was not going to be the kind of punishment that he would find enjoyable, either.  
It hadn’t been due to shoddy research on his part.  
He had scanned the internet for all possible clues, since the hand of the old Norse god Týr was of such vital importance that his failure to find it might well bring the whole Apocalypse grinding to a halt.  
Týr’s hand had been bitten off by the wolf Fenrir, when Týr had tried to bind the wolf. Fenrir had refused to let himself be bound, unless the god put his hand in the wolf’s mouth. When Fenrir found out that he was being tricked, snap went the jaws and the god remained one-handed.  
It was the only thing that could unbind Fenrir, besides the actual arrival of Ragnarök, because Gleipnir, the magic ribbon with which the monster was bound could only be removed by the hand of a god.  
Lucifer had sent him to Greenland through a special demon gateway.  
That had been a singularly unpleasant experience, not unlike being burned alive, while drowning at the same time.  
He had found what should have been the correct grave, but no matter how deep a hole he dug, there just was no hand of Týr.  
Neither in this grave, nor in any of the others.  
He had been frantic, not wanting to go back to his master empty handed.  
He had dug until his hands were bleeding and raw. And then he had dug some more. Inside the ruin of the church, all along the stone wall.  
There had been nothing.  
He now held them up to his master in a gesture of supplication and a rather futile attempt at proving that he had done all his master had asked and more besides.  
“You will be bleeding a whole lot worse when I am finished with you,” hissed Lucifer, eyes glowing red.  
Sam tried in vain to stifle a sob.

Castiel returned to the motel in the small hours.  
He was bleeding from several wounds and wearily slumped down in the overstuffed chair in the corner.  
The chair made a small whooshing noise, as Cas sunk down in it.  
Almost inaudible, it was yet enough to wake the hunter.  
Dean came up with his knife in his hand. He blinked several times, then said “Hey, Cas.” In a sleep-roughened voice. It took a few moments for the angel’s state to sink in.  
“Shit, man, what happened?”  
Dean walked over to the angel and took a look at the wounds.  
He was scared, because Castiel never got wounded in the first place, or if he did, he could heal himself almost immediately. Hell, he had healed his vessel’s body in a heartbeat and Jimmy Novak had been in terrible shape.  
He just didn’t know what to make of this at all.  
Cas just looked up at Dean, tried to smile and passed out.

This was getting to be a habit, Dean thought, as he undressed his angel. One more angel in the buff coming up for table 14.  
Yeah.  
Brilliant.  
His reaction to Cas’ body had gone into overdrive since the angel had kissed him. And amped up the volume once more when Castiel had given him the ring. Even unconscious and badly wounded like this, Dean felt wholly inappropriate things for the angel of the Lord who had, as Cas had once never tired of reminding him, gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.  
Castiel was still bleeding, so Dean started to patch up the deep gashes and jagged scratches as well as he could. Stitches were out of the question, for while the wounds kept oozing red, the angel’s body was healing the stitches off right away, making the thread vanish immediately after Dean put a stitch in.  
So in the end, he merely rinsed the wounds with holy water – better safe than sorry, right? – and bandaged them tightly.  
At one point or other, Cas must have come to, because when Dean turned him on his back once more, the angel’s blue eyes were looking at him with a curious expression.  
“I like your hands on me.” Cas said in a very low, uncertain voice.  
“I like my hands on you, too,” said Dean, a little more gruffly than he had intended.  
Damn, but he was worried.  
Those damned wounds should have long healed.

“What happened, Cas?” Dean asked. He sat on the edge of the bed next to the angel. Castiel still looked much the worse for wear, but at least he hadn’t passed out again.  
“Why won’t those wounds heal?”  
“They will, eventually, but it will take a while. The Old Ones… they play by different rules and so they can hurt me.”  
“The Old Ones?”  
“Gods from the past. Forgotten gods who predate Christianity.”  
“You were brawling with gods?”  
“Not gods, a god. He wouldn’t believe me at first, so I had to fight him until he was willing to listen. He was a little bit like you, actually.”  
“Haha, aren’t we a veritable font of mirth today.”  
Castiel smiled and said: “It was a tad hard to make him understand that he would have to take the box and hide it somewhere Lucifer cannot possibly reach it. He was a little put out to be given the box that held his own, bitten-off hand from millennia ago.”  
“You gave a dead hand back to its former owner? A god. Whom you fought. Christ, Cas, really!”  
“How many times do I have to tell you not to blaspheme?”  
“Dunno. How many times do I have to tell you you’re an aggravating asshole?”  
Castiel snorted. It almost sounded like a laugh, but Dean couldn’t be sure, because it ended in a yelp of pain, as the angel had tried to move his upper body a little.

Dean tried to settle Cas on the pillow in a more comfortable position.  
“I think he took more offense at me being the angel of what actually he considers to be his day. He called me a stupid winged usurper. But we did in the end reach an understanding, Týr and I.”  
“Týr?”  
Yes. The Norse god of single combat, victory and heroic glory. The god that put a name to Thursday. His hand was in the box and only his hand could free Fenrir, the wolf that will kill Odin at Ragnarök.”  
“Ragnarök?”  
“The Norse gods’ version of the Apocalypse. All preternatural things are part of the balance, Dean. Even those half forgotten gods. If the hand is used to free Fenrir before Ragnarök itself frees him, it may as well kick start the actual Norse Apocalypse on top of our own. And if Odin is killed, all the Old Ones serving good will lose their power and the Old Ones serving evil will join Lucifer’s army. And that will weaken the power of good unbelievably. It will tip the scales and not in our favor.”  
“But that danger now has passed?”  
“Yes. Týr listened to me and we have agreed that we must do our utmost to keep it from happening. The hand is safe and he will thwart any attempts Lucifer might make to get Týr himself to unbind Fenrir. He has also sworn he would send word to all other trustworthy gods.”

Castiel’s hand had wandered over to Dean’s thigh. He ran his fingers over the taut muscles underneath the smooth, well-worn denim.  
Dean drew a hissing breath.  
Cas snatched his hand away immediately.  
“I.. I’m sorry. Was that unpleasant?”  
“No, I was just… startled.”  
The hand wandered back to where it had been and the fingers were back exploring Dean’s thigh.  
“What else may I do with my hands?” Cas asked, voice still uncertain.  
“Whatever you please, baby, but not tonight. Tonight, you got to rest and heal, dammit. Can’t start making out with someone who is basically minced meat.”  
And then there was that other thing, of course. The nagging at the back of his mind, the voice that said that he couldn’t just do it like that.

_Forever I will adore only you_

“I want to talk to Jimmy again.”  
“What?”  
“Before we do anything, I want to talk to Jimmy. You know. Jimmy Novak, the guy who loaned you this body? This body you’ll be using to do real bad things with me? You do remember him, don’t you?”  
“Why would you want to talk to Jimmy?” Cas asked, head tilted once more.  
“Because it just doesn’t seem right, okay?”  
“But why?”  
“It is his body, Cas. His. He lent it to you for a purpose and I just doubt the purpose was to have sex with me. A part of me would always… wonder. Worry. Not feel okay with it.”  
“Unless Jimmy Novak tells you it’s okay for me to use his body to have intercourse with you.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Sometimes, you surprise me, Dean Winchester.”  
“How so?”  
“For someone who tries so hard to act the tough guy, the bad guy even, you have surprisingly rigid morals sometimes.”  
“Well, I got a thing for consensual sex, you know. Comes with the territory.”

They were sitting on a bench on the shores of a lake somewhere in rural Midwestern USA. Cas had been able to unearth some details of the possible course the Horsemen would be taking and the one called Pestilence would be passing this lake some time the next day. It might just be possible to delay him, maybe even bind him. Castiel had the ingredients it took and he believed that together with the hunter, he might be able to pull this off.  
The angel’s wounds had healed until the next nightfall and while Dean had stormed and growled that Cas needed more time to rest, Castiel had patiently argued that gathering the necessary intel was of paramount importance to their cause.  
And now Dean was demanding to talk to Jimmy Novak again.

The human’s face was closed, guarded, and Castiel knew exactly why.  
John had left the boys underfunded and alone for too long far too often, when hunts just got longer or something new stuff came up suddenly.  
And Dean, being who he was and who he is, had to take care of Sammy.  
Even if it meant peddling his own ass in some alleyway so he could buy food.  
Cas had seen it all, but his orders had been not to interfere.  
Castiel was fairly certain that Dean would not react well to that, so he kept his own face closed and guarded as well, pretending he knew nothing of what Dean had had to go through growing up.  
He nodded his consent.

Cas left the body.  
Dean knew exactly when it happened, it was obvious from the way the body he had come to associate with his angel suddenly rocked backwards. How the whole stance and body language changed.  
When the blue eyes reopened, Dean knew it was Jimmy Novak he was dealing with.  
“Hey, Jimmy.”  
“Dean…” Jimmy sounded confused, uncertain. “What happened? More trouble?”  
“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something. So Castiel left.”  
“What was it you wanted?” Jimmy asked, confusion still prominent in his voice.  
“I, uh… I have this thing with Cas.”  
“Thing with Cas? I don’t understand!”  
“We… we’re… kind of involved.”  
“Well, yes, you are his charge.”  
“No, Jimmy, I mean we, uh, we’re d-dating.”  
Man, that word was just plain stupid, but Dean just couldn’t wrap his vocal chords around anything else right now. Hell, he couldn’t even wrap his vocal chords around that word properly. His voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar to himself.  
Jimmy Novak looked shocked.  
“But Castiel he… he’s an angel of the Lord!”  
“Yeah, I know that and believe me, it doesn’t make things any easier, really. But we’re really… involved, man. And that he uses your body… makes things… more complicated. I can’t let anything happen to what… what really is YOUR body, you know what I mean? Not unless you’re okay with it.”

A swan, its mate and their cygnets were swimming across the lake in the distance, rippling the calm surface of the water in their wake.  
Jimmy Novak thought hard about the whole situation.  
He had been chosen as Castiel’s vessel for his faith.  
Faith that did involve believing that sexuality and marriage correlated. Faith that was tended to in churches where it was taught that sexuality was only okay between people of the opposite sex.  
But then again, what was the actual sex of angels? Nobody knew.  
So who was Jimmy Novak to decide what was wrong and what was right for Castiel.  
Yet… Cas was using Jimmy’s body and Jimmy just didn’t swing that way.  
It must have cost Dean a lot to ask, Jimmy thought. The other man was looking incredibly tense and highly uncomfortable.  
It took Jimmy a long time to ponder the many facets of this conundrum.  
Finally, he nodded and said: “If that’s the way things are, you may do as you please with my body.”  
“You … you sure about that?”  
“Castiel is an angel. If he is willing to risk to Fall because of you, he must be very serious about the two of you.”  
“So, we’re cool?”  
“Yes, Dean, we’re cool. Thank you for asking me. That means a lot to me.”

And again it was very obvious to Dean when Castiel returned to his vessel.  
The body was suddenly sitting more upright, looked more… awe-inspiring. The whole body language was entirely different. His angel was home.  
“Are we good now?” asked Castiel.  
“Yeah, it seems Jimmy’s a pretty cool dude.”  
“Jimmy Novak is a righteous man, Dean, not a cool dude.”  
“I think that’s one and the same thing in this case, Cas.”  
Dean smiled and put his arm around Castiel.  
No need to rush things.  
No need at all.

_I love you badly, just in time, at times, I guess..._

Sam was trying very hard indeed to get back into his masters good book. He now stood nervously before the throne, waiting for Lucifer to pass judgment on the plan Sam had devised. The plan that would get rid of the handful of people still trying to stop the Apocalypse and the renegade angel that aided them.  
He had fed false information to a source the angel trusted. Had cunningly set them out to meet Pestilence on the shores of a lake.  
The story rang true enough to be believed, what with the lake  being the water reservoir to half a state and Pestilence being what he was…  
Sam licked his lips and dared to look up at his master.  
Lucifer was smiling broadly and beckoned Sam to him.  
He drew his pet onto his lap and started to stroke him. The devil was pleased. Very pleased. And the pet would have his happy.

All it took was one flick of the Poison Prince’s elegant wrist and Sam’s clothes were gone. Lucifer’s smile widened at both the sight of his pet’s rampant erection and the traces of punishment still very raw and very visible.  
Oh yes, this would be good.  
“Over on the rack, if you please, Sam!”  
Sam started to shiver uncontrollably with pleasure.  
The rack, his favourite. He was bound securely in record time and Lucifer was selecting his toys.  
All those beautiful paddles, whips, chains and wicked knives.  
Sam swallowed.  
In the end, there would be his masters thick, glistening, pulsing cock inside Sam’s anus. And the world would at the same time stop making sense and make perfect sense regardless.  
And his life would be complete.  
 


	5. The Desperate Kingdom of Love 5/6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU ending for 4.22: We come to chapter 5, in which our heroes fight for their lives and the epic piece of ficcery finally gains an epic piece of fuckery, or so yours truly fervently hopes.

_**The Desperate Kingdom of Love 5/6 SPN Dean/Castiel**_  
 **Title:** The Desperate Kingdom of Love 5/6  
 **Disclaimer:** I aim to misbehave, but I don’t aim to profit from it. Will return them when finished, as always a little the worse for wear, but mostly undamaged. Songs used will be listed and credited. Used for the title: The Desperate Kingdom of Love (written by P.J. Harvey, but I prefer the Giant Sand or C.J. Chenier versions), as chapter headlines, Leonard Cohen's Sisters of Mercy donated two lines.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Genre:** slash  
 **Word Count:** ~3165  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas, Sam/Lucifer, Lilith, Ruby, Bobby  
 **Warnings:** angst, torture, kink, slash, language, booze, the lot **  
Summary:** AU ending for 4.22: We come to chapter 5, in which our heroes fight for their lives and the epic piece of ficcery finally gains an epic piece of fuckery, or so yours truly fervently hopes.  
And I think I might only need one more chapter after this. **  
Author's embarrassing bout of anxiety:** I'm very, very scared. This is my first Dean/Cas first time, LOL. And after reading [](http://thevinegarworks.livejournal.com/profile)[**thevinegarworks**](http://thevinegarworks.livejournal.com/)   most awesome Dean/Cas first time in [The Propensities of Good Men](http://thevinegarworks.livejournal.com/9383.html) (read the freakin' full story it's beyond awesome), it was a daunting task indeed.  
As a matter of fact, I suffered through a serious bout of penrectile dysfunction, but I think I got this... to... almost... ah, wtf, read and judge for yourselves.  


 _It begins with your family, but soon it comes round to your soul  
_  
Dean looked at his feet.  
There were red spatters in the sand and on his boots.  
He dropped to his knees. There was a burning, terrible pain in his abdomen. He wanted to put his hands where it hurt, but then he saw the iron spike protruding from his stomach and that’s when the pain really hit him.  
He wanted to cry out for Cas, but when he opened his mouth, he brought up blood instead of sound. He tried again, but all he could produce was a horrible gurgling noise.  
Suddenly, Castiel was by his side. His blue eyes were huge, scared, which did not exactly make Dean any calmer.  
“Dean… oh Dean!” The angel put his hand around the spike and looked deeply into Dean’s pain-glazed eyes.  
“This will… it will hurt. I can’t… I can only help when the spike is gone, okay?”  
Dean nodded. Couldn’t get much worse than it was, he thought.  
Turned out he had seldom been more wrong.

They had arrived at the lakeshore around the time the Horseman was due to show up.  
Only, there was no Horseman. Instead, there was a smallish demon army. Nothing too bad, really, just maybe… 200 strong.  
And if being outnumbered 100:1 wasn’t a daunting enough prospect, there was also the small matter of the army being led by Sam.  
Little Sammy, eyes yellow and face a mask of hatred.  
The bottom once more fell out of Dean’s world.  
He had, in spite of everything Cas had said, still clung to the thought of his brother being held hostage.  
Needing to be saved by Dean.  
Or just plain being human, still.  
There was, maybe thankfully enough, not much time to dwell on that, as the demons started attacking and there was nothing much to do than just fight for their lives.

Dean knew they wouldn’t make it out of this one alive.  
His only regret was coming to the conclusion that he shouldn’t rush the issue of having sex with his angel the previous day.  
Now, he just never would and it was a goddamned shame. It would’ve been epic, he was sure.  
The thought made him viciously twist Ruby’s knife in the chest of the demon he was currently fighting while he was using one booted foot to kick off two more attackers at the same time.  
He yanked the knife from the dead demon’s chest and turned to slice up the other two.  
There was no time to think at all, as the demons kept pressing in and he kept slicing and dicing to just fucking stay alive long enough to at least snatch another kiss from Castiel’s lip before he went to meet his maker.

There was a blinding flash of light and his other attackers backed off, eyes bleeding.  
Dean turned his head around and saw an angel behind his shoulder.  
The figure was standing still, sword raised high over his head.  
He wore golden armor and his six wings stretched behind him, opalescent, semi-translucent structures that caught and reflected the light.  
A light breeze ruffled longish, blond hair and the angel’s lavender eyes locked with Dean’s green ones.  
Dean knew with absolute certainty that this was the archangel Raphael, come to save them. He had no idea how he knew, but he was flooded with an unwavering faith he had never known he could possibly ever possess.  
The angel smiled at Dean and said: “Do your duty, Dean.”  
“My… my duty?”  
“You are Heaven’s chosen champion, Dean Winchester. There is evil to be slain.”  
Something clamped down hard on the knee-jerk snarky reply that had almost made it out of Dean’s mouth and he turned around to do just that.  
Slay more evil.

And behold, did he slay some evil sons of bitches, right until that point in time when that blasted iron spike made its way through his body from behind.  
The ironic thing was that actually at that point, they had already won and the few remaining demons and their leader were leaving. The spike had been thrust through Dean’s body by a demon that already lay dying.  
Dean hadn’t noticed this demon - an oversight that shouldn’t have happened.  
Wouldn’t have happened, if Dean hadn’t been so hell bent on reaching Cas and getting that fucking kiss the thought of which had kept him alive through this battle.  
But now Cas was there, hands pressed on both wounds, murmuring soothing things in his ears while his angel was revving up the mojo to get some healing done.  
The angel started to glow, but then the light wavered and went out again.  
Cas made a broken sound and his eyes were frantic.  
A pale, beautiful hand touched Castiel’s shoulder.  
“Let me, little brother.”  
And the archangel they called The Healer knelt down and bathed Dean in bright light.  
The pain lessened instantly. He could feel his insides knit up. It was the most freaky feeling ever.  
Then the pain was completely gone and all he could feel was… warmth, comfort, love, care and a certainty that everything would be well in the end.

“Is he gone?” Dean asked in a dreamy voice, still feeling safe and warm and well.  
“Yes.” Castiel looked around their appalling motel room for a clean glass. Dean should have some water.  
“Why did he save me?”  
“Because you are Heaven’s chosen champion.”  
“Say that three times in a row,” Dean snorted, voice decidedly undreamy again. “And how the hell did we manage to not die before he reached us? I mean, being outnumbered that badly, we should’ve been toast within ten seconds flat!”  
“You keep forgetting that I am an angel of the Lord.” Castiel said mildly, but with that slightly obstinate lift of his chin.  
“No, I don’t. Even so, the odds were very much not in your favor. And I am just human.”  
Cas shifted a little uneasily. He opened his mouth, but then apparently thought better of it and closed it again.  
“What, Cas, spit it out. What the hell did you do to me?”  
“As champion, you are not just human anymore. You are stronger, faster, more durable. I did nothing to you, Dean, accepting to be our weapon did.”  
Dean sighed. Angels. Kings of obfuscation.  
“Fine. Should’ve known I wouldn’t get a straight answer out of you.”  
“That was a straight answer, I do not know wh…”

 _When you’re not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you’ve sinned_

Dean just didn’t give a crap anymore if he got all the intel, or even any intel at all from the Heavenly Hosts.  
All he wanted and needed right now was that fucking kiss he’d wanted since they had battled the demons. Finally that kiss, forever that kiss.  
He grabbed Cas, cutting his reply short by roughly claiming the angel’s mouth. He had almost died today, died without tasting this, died without knowing what making love with Castiel would feel like.  
There was nothing else in this entire universe that was more important than this.  
Nothing that would save him except owning Castiel, soul, body and mind.  
Right now, right here, before some filthy demon hand could cut them down, before fate could cheat them out of sharing their… love.  
Love.  
Should be a scary word, except that it totally wasn’t.  
Yeah, okay, so maybe he was a bit dense and it had taken a fucking iron spike through his gut to see how goddamned short their time together might be and what a fucking waste his life would be if he couldn’t just this once stop pretending that nothing mattered much to him. It did matter, it mattered so much that it threatened to choke him. And he would not make the same mistake again this time. Castiel, the motherfucking angel of Thursday, was his and the rest of the world be damned.  
Cas made small, breathy noises at the back of his throat and Dean thought that that was the goddamned sexiest thing he had ever heard.

He all but ripped Cas’ clothes from the angel’s body.  
No time for finesse, brute force was all he could manage until Castiel was spread out on the bed in all his naked glory.  
The urgency then suddenly whooshed out of Dean’s body in one big rush and he stilled. His eyes were raking over Cas’ chest and abdomen, taking in every tiny detail.  
He leant down and whispered into the angel’s ear: “Have you ever..?”  
“”No.”  
Castiel’s voice sounded hoarse and scared. Dean wasn’t entirely certain if he should be elated to be the first, or scared shitless. But seeing that two scared people in this situation would definitely be one too many, he tried to settle for elated.  
He would somehow have to run this show. Seemed like one helluva huge responsibility. He swallowed hard.  
“Do you trust me?”  
At any other moment in time, this sentence could have been extremely funny, coming, as it was, from Mr. Trust Issues Personified. But Dean felt… for lack of a better word, he felt brand new. He had never loved before, at least not if it wasn’t brotherly love you were talking about.  
Nothing and nobody besides Sammy had ever mattered so much to Dean and what he felt for Sam did not compare to this, nor did it compete with this feeling, either. He just wanted to do right by Cas, make this moment special, make it... unique.  
“Yes,” whispered his angel.

Dean ran his hands over Castiel’s chest almost reverently.  
His fingers played with Cas’ nipples and the low moan that that elicited from the angel was music in Dean’s ears.  
He bent down and took one nipple in his mouth. Cas made a weird noise. Dean looked up quickly, worried that he had done something the other didn’t want him to do. Castiel was moving his lips, but no sound came out.  
“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, anxiously.  
“Wh… what do I do?”  
Dean saw that Cas’ hands were fisting the sheets so hard, the knuckles were stark white.  
This was going to tax his self control.  
Cas needed a lot more time in this, Dean decided.  
He needed to take things much, much slower to accommodate a virginal… oh God, a virginal angel of the Lord. He had tried not to think about the consequences of his actions, but now they hit him with a vengeance.  
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Sweet Jesus.  
He suddenly was completely unable to breathe.  
There would be consequences.  
The worst consequences Dean had ever contemplated before and tried his very best to avoid had been knocking one of the countless, meaningless girls up. Or maybe getting VD. He tried to force his lungs back into cooperation.  
Castiel could Fall.  
From Grace.  
Because of him.  
He managed to open his mouth to ask: “Cas, if we do this, will you Fall?”  
“Raphael said no.”  
“And how reliable is his word?”  
“He is one of the Seven who stand before the face of our Father, Dean.”  
“So, reliable enough, huh?”  
Cas laughed. And boy, was that breathtakingly sexy.

Suddenly, Dean found himself flat on his back with Castiel’s laughing blue eyes looking down at him. The angel slanted his mouth across Dean’s and showed his human how well he had mastered the fine art of kissing.  
When Cas broke the kiss, Dean growled, opened his mouth to start talking, but suddenly, the angel’s hand was on his mouth.  
“Enough talk.”  
The angel’s eyes darkened.  
“Tell me what I should do now. I… I want things, but I… don’t know what they are. That is very frustrating and I do not like to be frustrated.”  
Dean turned his head to free his mouth. “Oh, you don’t, huh?”  
Strangely enough, Dean noticed that he suddenly was buck naked. Now that was a neat trick.  
Castiel rubbed his body against Dean’s, looking helpless and unhappy, as that action wasn’t apparently yielding the desired result.  
“Shhhh, let me show you,” whispered Dean.  
And he did.  
He took Castiel’s cock in his knowledgeable hand and began stroking with deft, certain motions.  
Better to let the angel come once, before they started anything else.

Cas was lost. Completely lost in these new sensations.  
Something was building inside of him, something big, something scary. He didn’t understand any of it as he gave in to the waves of pleasure that flooded his body with every stroke.  
He heard his own moans and gasps and watched Dean’s deft hand on his member, stroking, rubbing, teasing.  
Dean’s thumb caressed the slitted tip and Castiel’s hips bucked.  
The angel looked up to see that Dean was smiling.  
A real smile, this time. Not Dean’s usual lethal weapon smile, the smile that said too much and hid everything.  
It was beautiful and strangely innocent and it was what drove Castiel over the edge.  
He looked up into the green eyes that held his entire world as he came.

Castiel rested his head on Dean’s chest. He was speechless. Being familiar with the basic mechanics had in no way prepared him for the reality of an orgasm. Dean caressed the angel’s back in small, circular motions.  
After a little while, Dean moved out from under him. He ran his thumb over Castiel’s bottom lip and then kissed him briefly.  
Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes. The human was much too close. Or maybe not close enough.  Cas moved his head forward and captured Dean’s lower lip in his mouth. The reaction was immediate and left Cas breathless a few minutes later.  
Dean sure was one fine kisser, Cas thought.  
He had had a lot of practice, of course and practice made perfect. Strangely enough, Castiel didn’t like this thought. It made him… angry, somehow.  
He freed himself from Dean’s grip and swiftly reversed their positions.  
He kissed his hunter. Hungrily, no holds barred.

Dean felt Castiel’s hand in his hair.  
The angel made a purring sound and Dean took that to mean he should start the main event already.  
He took Cas’ dick in his mouth, finding the right rhythm quickly, using lips and teeth and tongue alternately.  
He knew precisely when to let up the pressure and when to up the ante and soon Cas’ hips were bucking and his angel was making urgent, breathy little noises.  
Dean started stroking himself in time to his ministrations on Cas’ cock. Dean felt Castiel’s hip stutter and then the angel came hot in Dean’s mouth.  
He finished himself off diligently only seconds later.  
He looked up at Cas as he let the softening dick slide from his mouth and smiled widely.  
His angel looked like he was ready to melt in a helpless puddle of post-orgasmic relaxation. Cas’ pupils were still totally blown with lust.  
“You okay?” Dean asked huskily, still smiling.  
“I… uh.”  
“Mmmh, today’s a good day then. Gotta mark it in the calendar. The day I rendered the angel of Thursday speechless.”  
Castiel sat up and cupped Dean’s face with his hands. He ran his thumbs over Dean’s lower lip, then dipped his head and kissed his human soundly.  
“Words are sometimes exceedingly overrated,” the angel whispered.

“Hang on in there. I’ll be right back.”  
Dean smiled reassuringly at Cas as he jumped off the bed to run to the bathroom. Damn, but he should’ve been better prepared. Yeah right, sure, he had just barely survived a battle, of course he could’ve stepped out to get that stuff organized any minute. Dean rolled his eyes at his own knee-jerk reaction.  
So. Condoms. Lube.  
Condoms, check. Lube? Hell, he had never needed any.... He found a small jar of vaseline. Something was nagging at the back of his head regarding vaseline and condoms... Not a good idea with latex, yup, that was it.  
He checked and sighed with relief. Polyurethane.  
He grabbed both the box of non-rubber rubbers and the vaseline and ran back to the bed.  
Castiel was looking curiously at him.  
“Had to... errm, grab some supplies, okay?”  
The angel looked at the things in Dean’s hands and nodded.  
“Protection and lubrication, ah, yes.”

Dean smirked.  
“So, how much else of the theory do you know?”  
“Well...” Castiel made an expansive motion with his hands and Dean just said. “Okay, okay. No need to elaborate. Just let me know if you’re okay with the general concept of us doing that.”  
“I thought we would do that much faster than we seem to be doing it, if truth be told.” Cas tilted his head in that weird way of his again. “I have never seen you take so much time before.”  
Dean laughed.  
“Well, I don’t think I ever ha... Wait a minute. Have you been spying on me when I...?”  
“You are my charge, I was responsible for you.”  
“Bullshit, you pervy little peeping tom!”  
Dean grinned hugely as he made a grab for Cas.

The mood shifted again.  
The second their bodies touched, desire flared again and their mouths locked onto each other.  
Cas ran his tongue lightly over Dean’s bottom lip.  
The angel felt Dean shudder and his mouth opening. Their tongues touched, danced over each other, savored the texture of the other. He licked the inside of Dean’s lips and pulled him even closer.  
His mind went blank when his crotch collided with Dean’s hard thigh. He rubbed himself against it and saw stars.  
He disengaged his mouth and took a deep, gasping breath.  
The deep, satisfied chuckle from the Dean made itself felt in the angel’s entire body.  
He lightly cupped Dean’s balls in one hand, running his thumb over Dean’s penis.  
It amazed him just how soft the skin there was, how silky the shaft felt. A small drop of precome had gathered at the tip, glistening like a pearl.  
Dean growled something and flipped them over.  
Dean assaulted Castiel’s mouth roughly. Tongue, teeth, lips meshed, sucking and twirling and caressing over and over until he thought he’d faint from either the lack of air or the sheer fucking awesomeness of this kiss.

Dean managed to somehow unscrew the top of the vaseline with one hand and without even looking. He put some on his fingers and gently slipped one finger inside Cas’ tight anus. Dean slipped a second finger in and stroked Castiel’s prostate. Cas moaned loudly and his hips rocked upwards.  
Dean covered Castiel’s mouth with his. He pulled his fingers out and immediately felt the angel’s moan of protest in his mouth.  
He replaced his fingers with his cock in one fluid movement.  
Cas whimpered, the sound all but lost in Dean’s mouth.  
So good.  
Dean quickly found the right rhythm. Cas was urging him on with small sounds.  
He wanted to say something, to say anything, but couldn’t seem to form coherent thoughts, let alone words.  
He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, so Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s dick.  
All it took was one single deft downward stroke and Castiel came in one giant, hot wave of pleasure, in almost perfect synchrony with Dean.


	6. The Desperate Kingdom of Love 6/6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU ending for 4.22: The final battle draws near. Will good conquer evil, can Sam be saved and will we get a happy ending?

_**The Desperate Kingdom of Love 6/6, SPN Dean/Castiel**_  
 **Title:** The Desperate Kingdom of Love 6/6  
 **Disclaimer:**   I aim to misbehave, but I don’t aim to profit from it. Will return them when finished, as always a little the worse for wear, but mostly undamaged. Songs used will be listed and credited. Used for title: The Desperate Kingdom of Love (written by P.J. Harvey, but I prefer the Giant Sand or C.J. Chenier versions) and chapter headlines come from David Bowie, The Man Who Sold The World  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Genre:** slash  
 **Word Count:** ~3593  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Dean/Cas, Sam/Lucifer, Lilith, Ruby, Bobby  
 **Warnings:** angst, torture, kink, slash, language, booze, the lot. AND TENTACLE SEX. Sorry. Really. Sorry. It just happened. Must've left the cage door open and Tenty escaped.  
 **Summary:** AU ending for 4.22: The final battle draws near. Will good conquer evil, can Sam be saved and will we get a happy ending?  


  
_We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when_

So, that was it, then.  
Bobby had called to say his sources were saying the army of Lucifer was heading to Black Mesa in Arizona.  
Castiel had looked strangely for a moment and then he had confirmed that his sources were saying the same thing.  
Tomorrow.  
The ultimate battle was going to go down tomorrow right on the arid plains and even if Lucifer hadn’t been able to properly start the Apocalypse thanks to one Norse god hand having gone missing, it would be a battle that would eventually be sure to decide the fate of the world.  
Their time had run out before it even really had begun.  
Dean fought to keep his calm.  
In vain.  
He walked outside and just lost it completely again in the woods, no Cas holding him back this time as he pummeled some tree.  
When his hands were bleeding freely and he just couldn’t hit the tree anymore from sheer exhaustion and pain, he walked back to the hotel.  
Castiel was gone.

“Raphael, I do not know if we can do it.”  
Cas was pacing in what served as the angels’ war room.  
As a matter of fact, it was an old Anasazi pueblo that human archaeologists had found in the early days of the 20th century, mapped and measured and then promptly written off as being of no historical value or importance whatsoever. What they had failed to grasp, fortunately, was that the site was of incredible mystical value, being a so called blind spot. The place was a nuclear shelter against all things mystical and magical. Nobody would be able to spot them here, neither the angels nor the demons fighting for the apocalypse.  
Their band was small, just a handful of fighters. The world’s hope rested on the shoulder of pitifully few good men and good angels.  
The archangel sighed.  
“Our numbers are small, yes, but we have no choice but to do it. Every one of the angels will bring one of the few remaining Hunters to the battlefield. We will take our final stand on Black Mesa and we will not give up. We will fight until the end.”

Raphael’s true form was awe inspiring even in repose, but right now he was quite simply a frightening sight.  
Determination, anger and the absolute will to lay his life on the line to serve the Lord’s will, even if all of his brothers were denying the truth of the matter.  
All the other archangels believed the lie Uriel and Zachariah had spun, accepted that Zachariah was not letting them speak to their Father for some obscure reason or other. Raphael had tried to reason with Michael and had tried to plead with Gabriel, but neither was prepared to think the unthinkable, namely that their own brothers were betraying the very essence of their existence.  
“Is he ready, Castiel?”  
“Yes. He does not believe it, but he will play his part. He will follow through, have no fear.”  
“I have no fear, merely... a concern for this human. He is... different. I should like to see him greet many more dawns with you, my friend.”  
Cas swallowed, even though his true form had no such fluids as spit or blood. Proof positive, so would the likes of Zachariah say, of his unhealthy obsession with humanity. Castiel himself would call it a tribute.  
“Go back to him. He is hurting.”

 _Oh no, not me, I never lost control_

Lucifer was lounging on a large, round, red bed.  
Demons were taking care of his every need and he was watching the show, enjoying himself hugely.  
Sam was locked in a cage, naked, hands chained and fixed to the ceiling above him.  
He was writhing in a most delicious manner, staring at the creature in the adjoining cage.  
Lucifer chuckled.  
He had had a hard time hunting down the Shikima for this game. It’s tentacles were writhing in time with Sam and Lucifer was extremely aroused already. This would be beyond good.  
He motioned for the dividing wall to be removed.  
Sam started making helpless, scared noises and tried to move his body as far away from the opening as possible. Which, given the confined space of the cage, was not very far.  
The Shikima made its way forward. It had changed color with the heightening of its arousal and was now dark gray with red splotches all over.  
The first tentacle reached Sam and coiled around his ankle.  
It felt strangely pliable, yet Sam could feel its terrible strength.

Sam screamed.  
The second tentacle, which had just started to ascend his other leg, stopped short.  
When no command came from Lucifer, it wormed its way further upward.  
Tentacles three and four entered the cage and wrapped themselves around Sam’s hip and chest. The Shikima heaved its body into the cage and was now free to deploy the four remaining tentacles as well.  
Sam screamed again. The Shikima didn’t like the sound, so one tentacle slithered into Sam’s mouth, filling it completely. Sam gagged. He tasted sea water.  
Another tentacle was exploring fondly his right nostril, while its mate slid into his left ear. One was deftly fondling his nipples and another his balls.

He jumped, when another slithered between his butt cheeks.  
At that, yet another tentacle coiled around his cock, squeezing and pumping.  
The tentacle at his back found the entrance it had looked for and started to push inside.  
Sam was shuddering, body wracked with spasm as the tentacle went deeper and deeper and the pumping on his dick intensified. The tentacle in his mouth was playing with his tongue.  
He was horrified and at the same time had never been so aroused in all his life.  
His master must truly love him to give him such a treat, he thought as his eyes glazed over and he came, pumping and squirting his juice of the Shikima’s soft flesh.  
The Shikima quivered massively and showered Sam with its own cum from head to toe.

 _I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here_

Dean grabbed a bottle and walked to the shore of the lake.  
Tomorrow.  
Seven, maybe eight meager hours.  
And Cas was gone.  
He should hold on to his angel.  
He should say all those things he hadn’t said.  
Maybe they should do at least some of the things they hadn’t done yet.  
A familiar rustle of feathers heralded the arrival of his angel.  
Dean put the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.  
Castiel walked up to him until he could feel the angel pressing against his back. The pain was almost unbearable.  
Tomorrow would be the end of the world as he knew it. There was no telling if he would survive, if Cas would survive and even less if his brother would survive and what manner of a creature Sammy would be after it was all over.  
Castiel sat down beside him.

Dean took a long swig out of the bottle, then passed it along to his silent companion.  
They looked out over the lake. It was the proverbial calm before the storm, a night so quiet it was eerie. Not even the slightest breeze was stirring.  
From somewhere to the right came the lonely call of a bird.  
"Are we going to do this again?" he asked at long last.  
"I do not know."  
He took the bottle back and took another swig. The whisky burned a hot trail down his throat. Tomorrow would be decisive, he knew. And things weren't looking good. But then, when were they ever?  
The question was threatening to tear up his throat on the way out, burning worse than the rotgut whisky.  
"Are we going to do anything together ever again after tomorrow?"  
He looked at his angel. Or rather, he looked at the collar of his goddamned trench, afraid to meet Castiel's eyes.

His hand crept tentatively over to Cas' and he laced his fingers trough the angel's.  
Cas shifted his position slightly, so he could look at Dean.  
Another bird answered the first one's call from the left and Dean shivered.  
Castiel sometimes didn't know what the human expected of him.  
Did he want the lie, did he want to be assured that all would be well and they would live out tomorrow's battle?  
Or would he rather have the truth, however painful or however empty and meaningless?  
Castiel sighed and settled for the latter.  
"What would you have me say, Dean? I do not know such things."  
"Lie to me, Cas. Just lie to me, please. Give me something to fight for tomorrow."  
Dean's voice was very soft and desperate.  
From the far end of the lake, another night bird called. It was an eerie sound.

Cas tilted his head as he tried to come up with a lie that rang true enough for Dean to consciously buy into it.  
A lie that would truly give comfort.  
He came up empty.  
So he searched his heart for the answer instead.  
And unexpectedly, there was a truth to be shared. A thought to cling to as the world went dark.  
"Tomorrow night, it will rain and I will lick the droplets from your cheekbones. And because I have never done that, I will neither let you die nor die myself without this experience. And because of the million other things I can imagine and haven't yet done with you, we will both live for a long time still."  
"Okay then." said Dean, after a long while of pondering this. He sighed as he rested his head against Castiel's.  
In the tree behind them, another bird called.

 _You're face to face with The Man Who Sold The World_

Dawn was breaking over the battle ground.  
9000 years of human settlement and human prayer had soaked into the grounds of the sacred plains.  
This place was eminently well suited to Lucifer’s purpose, as it served so well to illustrate man’s basic inhumanity to man, from the forced resettlements of the indigenous tribes, via brother quarrelling with brother to the relentless coal mining and radioactively poisoned water that desecrated the land today. It oozed a miasma of the hallow and the corrupt, of devotion and sin, so thick that Castiel was almost choking on it.  
Finally, the armies of good and evil were facing each other.  
Some warrior here and there was fidgeting, but by and large, it was eerily quiet and the fighters were facing each other almost motionlessly.  
At some unspoken command, on some unseen signal, they started to move towards each other.

Dean was fighting for his life.  
This once more was not exactly going down as planned.  
Castiel was at the other end of the battlefield, facing down Lucifer.  
He looked to be doing... well, he was still standing.  
Sam and a handful of demons were fighting the small band of angels Raphael had brought down to their aid to Dean’s right. Each angel had brought a Hunter to the fray and they were doing a tremendous job in depleting the ranks of the demons.  
Raphael himself was surrounded by demons on Dean’s far left, but looked to be in fine form still.

Suddenly, there was a blond giant next to him who started hewing down demons by the busload with an enormous battle axe, which he deftly wielded in his left hand. He was in full armor and wore a horned helmet on his head.  
In between, the ginormous hunk found the time to grin broadly at Dean, wink and holler: “Nice going, eh?”  
Dean yelled back: “Dude, you just gotta be Týr, right?”  
“Ach, what gave me away?” There was a slight Nordic accent to the booming voice.  
“Dunno. Tall, blond, one hand, battle axe, super strength… Beats me, I guess I’m just great at reading people.”  
The god laughed, steel blue eyes flashing, as he hacked the heads off three more demons.  
“A good battle is always welcome. I have been idle too long! Retirement does not sit well with me.” Each word was accompanied by a demon’s sudden demise.  
You had to hand it to the guy, he was an awesome warrior.  
“And I had to prove it to that angel of yours just who the fuck owns Thursday!”

Castiel was facing Lucifer.  
His brother was smiling.  
“You have strayed very far from what the Host accepts as proper behavior, my brother.” The voice was soft, persuasive and warm.  
“That may be, Lucifer. But I still know good from evil, make no mistake.”  
“And would you sacrifice your newfound love on the altar of righteousness?”  
“I do not have to.”  
Castiel drew his sword and took a fighting stance.  
“I fight for our Father and the very fact that I am here illustrates that my love is not an issue in this.”  
With that, Cas started the attack, his moves deft and sure. Lucifer parried with some difficulty.  
The angel thought he saw something shift behind the Poison Prince’s eyes.  
It may well have been fear.

Cas was driving the Devil over to where Dean was still fighting side by side with Týr.  
Things were going better than he had thought.  
He hadn’t been sure that the Norse god would come to their aid, but it was plain to see that Týr was enjoying himself hugely. If he now had remembered to bring the item they had talked about...  
He gritted his teeth as he fought his opponent. Lucifer was gaining confidence, probably from the way Cas was moving backwards. It was hard to hold back against Satanas, every instinct in his body was screaming to go in for the kill. Only he wouldn’t be able to truly kill the Devil and the whole game would start afresh.  
Follow the plan, Castiel, follow the plan and vade retro from Satanas, so to speak.  
Castiel was parrying a rather vicious thrust from Lucifer and allowed himself to be driven even further back, towards the two most unlikely weapons Heaven had ever availed itself of.

Cas had explained to Dean that he would try to lure Lucifer close to him.  
Looked like it was working.  
Lucy was drawing neigh, yeehaw.  
And Heaven’s chosen champion was ready. Or, well, prepared, anyway. Alright, physically present.  
Castiel had almost sat on Dean until the Hunter had been able to say the words of the incantation flawlessly. Sammy would’ve gotten that shit right first time around, maybe at second try at the latest, but he just wasn’t one for Latin – so he told Cas when the angel had gotten so exasperated that he had actually taken off his tie as if it choked him.  
Whereupon his angel had informed him in very terse tones that the words were ancient Aramaic, not Latin.  
Same difference to Dean, really, just a lot more harsh vowels.

With one final thrust, Castiel brought Lucifer to his knees.  
“Now, Dean!”  
Dean started to recite the incantation that would render Lucifer helpless. The Devil bucked, tried to crawl away, but couldn’t, as the essence of Dean’s power, a bright, orange glow, spilled on the ground and formed a circle around them.  
“Týr, now!” Dean heard Castiel call as the last words left his mouth.  
The Norse god had a strange looking rope in his hands and quickly bound Lucifer, like one would bind a deer, hands and feet together.  
“Gleipnir? You have a piece of Gleipnir?” Lucifer screamed in a curiously high voice, his eyes huge and scared.  
“Serves you right, you wanted to free Fenrir and start Ragnarök, you bastard. Now you will go to lie beside him forever.  
With that, they were both gone.

Dean looked at Castiel, not quite knowing what to do now.  
“We still must fight the demons, Dean,” Cas gasped, as he hefted his sword up to his shoulder.  
“Right. But you will eventually explain that orange light shit to me, yes?”  
“That was the essence of your power. What makes you a hunter, what makes you a brother, what makes you my lover, what makes you the champion of Heaven. All of that and it neutralized Lucifer’s power, drained him and made it possible for Týr to bind him. I told you you were the right choice for this. Do you finally believe me now?”  
They had hewn their way through a group of demons in the meantime, but with their leader gone, they weren’t putting up much of a fight anymore and were, in fact, leaving the battlefield by the dozens.  
Dean saw Raphael advance on Sam and for one horrible moment thought the seraph would kill his brother.  
All he did, though, was disarm Sam and touch his hand to his brother’s forehead. Sam crumpled to the ground and Raphael swiftly turned to slay more demons.

 _I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home_

When all was over, Dean knelt by his brother’s still form.  
Sam’s eyes were open, but he seemed unable to move. No, not Sam’s eyes, the yellow abomination Dean just wanted to scratch right out.  
He drew a shuddering breath and whispered: “Sammy...”  
Týr walked up to him.  
“What do you care about this demon?”  
“He’s not a demon, he’s my little brother.”  
Týr looked thoughtful, then went on one knee and put his hand over Sam’s heart.  
Cas appeared behind Dean and put a hand on his shoulder.  
“His heart is true. This kind of possession I have never seen before.”  
Cas cleared his throat and said: “He is not possessed in the classical sense. He was fed demon blood as an infant and was tricked by a demon working for Lucifer into starting to use the power that came with it.”  
Dean was astonished. After all that Castiel had ever said and done, he hadn’t expected him to make excuses for Sammy like that.  
“Well, let me see,” said the Norse god calmly.

Týr cocked his head, closed his eyes and started to hum a song in what probably was, well, Norse.  
Dean could feel the power gathering around the god.  
The air started to crackle with electricity and an eerie growl reverberated around the battle field.  
The god’s eyes snapped open. Instead of their usual steel blue, they now glowed an opalescent white.  
Týr bellowed a word of command and Sam’s body jerked upwards.  
He started to hack and cough. It looked like he was choking to death.  
Dean didn’t know what to do and looked helplessly at the god.  
“Turn him around, human!” Týr growled.  
Dean did as the god commanded.  
Sammy continued with the awful hacking and gagging. It sounded less awful now that gravity seemed to work in Sam’s favor.  
After what felt like an eternity to Dean, Sammy coughed up three drops of some black, viscous substance and fell back to the ground unconscious.  
“There. He is cleaned now.” Týr sounded pretty smug as he said that.  
He winked again at Dean and said: “We still have our use, eh? He will sleep for a while and then he will be okay. Good as new. Better, even.”  
Dean swallowed hard, blinked rapidly and said: “Thank you. I… owe you.”  
The god laughed.  
It was a sound that made the earth rumble and warmed the heart. His laugh was something primal and simple in the face of so much deception, lies and tricks and it took Dean’s pain and weariness away instantly.  
“That you do. And I might even hold you to it one day.”

The god slapped Dean’s shoulder and the human thought he could feel multiple bones snap.  
“That was a good battle, Dean Winchester. Now we go drink. Come, take your brother and your angels. We will drink in the halls of Valhalla.”  
Valhalla. Holy crap.  
“My angels?”  
“Yes, yes, we take the blond one, too. He is a mighty warrior, that Raphael. Sissy name. Stupid hairdo. But oh my, he is some warrior alright!”  
“You’ll take us back home after, right?” Dean asked carefully, not wanting to be stranded in the halls of the old Norse gods for eternity.  
“Ah, nah, I’ll be too drunk, but your angel will do that, I’m sure. Angels don’t get drunk, do they?”  
Castiel tilted his head as he pondered this question.  
“No, I do not think we do. Or rather, if we do, we can sober up again in the blink of an eye.”  
“Okay, so we have our designated driver, then!” Týr bellowed.  
Raphael smiled. “Oh good, usually that would always be me, but this time, even I get to get shitfaced.”  
The god laughed uproariously again and whisked them all off to Valhalla.

When Dean came to the next morning, he was back in that motel room that would forever be his and Cas’, limbs tangled up in a knot of sheets and Castiel, mead horn still clutched in one hand, Viking helmet on the nightstand.  
Drunken Sammy was in the second bed, snoring softly, probably dreaming of Junoesque blond goddesses.  
His brother didn’t have any recollection of what had happened after the blood sigil closed, or so he said. But who was Dean to press someone on what he did and didn’t want to recall after so much shit had  gone down in the first place.  
Dean’s head was spinning and there was a funny taste in his mouth.  
Still, he was grinning like a jackass.  
Holy cow, but those Norse gods knew how to fucking party!  
 


End file.
